


Butterfly Knives

by star_child



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Backstory, Blow Jobs, Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Kidnapping, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Making Out, Muteness, Mutual Pining, Partying, Single Parents, Stabbing, Street fighting, Texting, Well just one, creepy daishou, selectively mute kenma, yknow just the fun stuff here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-13 00:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15352680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_child/pseuds/star_child
Summary: Kenma falls in love with a street fighter.After a lot of drunk nights, texts regarding the chewiness of Chris Pine, and the manifestation of one (1) worst fear, the fighter falls in love with him too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wehey shitty summary and a bit misleading cuz the fighter has also been in love w him the whole time but what can i say?
> 
> all you really need to know about this is that whenever i opened google docs on my phone the title was too long for my screen and it was shortened to Butt...Knives. also that the first chapter is kinda shitty but personally i think it's worth getting through

He should know better.

As a senior in college, someone who has sat through the safety and security presentation every year for  _ four years _ now, and as someone with basic common sense, he should _ fucking know better. _ But he thought everything would be fine, it wasn’t that far of a walk, it wasn’t really  _ that  _ late. But he’d been wrong.

One in the morning is too late for a college student to be walking alone through the city, even just a few blocks. And how dumb is he, really, that he would even risk a shortcut through an alley.

Kenma wants to bash his head against the wall.

The man towering over him looks ready to do it for him. He had come out of nowhere, dressed in what could be black or dark green, a black hat over his bleached blond hair. One of his hands is braced on the wall beside Kenma’s head, the other propped on his hip so the curve of his arm blocks the space between his body and the dumpster on Kenma’s other side. He’s caged.

“Hey there, little kitten,” the man purrs, bending further at the waist so their faces are closer together. Kenma doesn’t speak. “What’s a pretty kitty like you doing all alone so late at night?” The man’s eyes are slitted like a snake, body tense and coiled like he’s ready to spring forward without warning.

Kenma’s eyes slide over the man’s shoulders to take in what’s behind him, trying to find an angle. His stomach drops at what he sees: two more pairs of eyes lurking in the shadows, narrow and critical. Even if Kenma manages to escape the snake in front of him, there’s no way he can get away from two more.

“You look like you could use some company,” the man continues, and the hand on his hip creeps close to Kenma’s side. He flinches away automatically – other people’s hands have always felt like razors on his skin – but bounces off the other arm still against the wall. The man coos out some noise meant to be soothing as his hand inches toward Kenma’s waist, touching lightly for a second before it slips under his shirt.

Kenma gasps and shoves at the man’s arm, successfully removing it from his body. It surprises him enough that he has a chance to duck under his other arm and try to run, but the two others emerge from the shadows and block his path immediately.

“The kitty’s tryna’ run!” one man crows, an excited, predatory gleam in his eyes. The other man is silent, but he doesn’t look keen on letting Kenma escape either.

Kenma doesn’t know how to fight. He knows the correct way to throw a punch, and where to aim, but that’s not fighting, it’s hardly even self defense. Still, he bends his knees, clenches his fists, and prepares for the worst.

What he isn’t prepared for, is for the two men in front of him to suddenly take a step back, eyes widening as if they’re afraid of tiny Kenma and his pastel colored backpack. Curious, he starts to look behind him before freezing, knowing he shouldn’t turn his back on his attackers.  _ Curiosity killed the cat,  _ after all.

It proves a good choice when the one who spoke scrambles forward. Kenma is startled into backing away from the unsteady hand that grabs at his arm, backpack falling off and landing on the asphalt. The silent one moves forward, as he’s still off balance, and easily grabs his flailing arm. He’s whirled him around, back pressed against the man’s chest as something sharp and cold is pressed to his neck.

Kenma stops breathing.

He can at least see what scared them now: A tall man with wild black hair, landing the strongest punch Kenma has ever seen into the blond man’s face, leading to the sickening crunch of cartilage as he collapses.

“Holy fuck,” the man not holding Kenma squeaks.

The tall man straightens from his fighting stance, squaring off against the two snakes. The street lights cast stark shadows against his face, illuminating his eyes. They’re hard and gold, showing no fear, only anger and determination that Kenma finds reassuring. “Let him go,” he growls, low and threatening.

To his right, the man tries to stand his ground. “N – No! We got him first! Find your own!” He’s shaking in his shoes.

Against his neck, the knife presses harder. “I’ll cut him,” the man holding him threatens. It’s the first and last time he speaks, because faster than Kenma can comprehend, the tall man has rushed forward. He knocks the knife away and ducks under the momentum fueled punch aimed at him with ease, popping back up to deliver a hard shot to the side of the snake’s head. He falls, and the fighter turns to the second man.

“Hey hey hey hey, I don’t want –“

He doesn’t finish, because the fighter kicks his legs out from under him. He falls as well, smacks his head on the concrete, and doesn’t get up.

Kenma doesn’t realize he’s pressed against the wall until the fighter turns back to him and he tries to move even further away. He’s shaking so hard he can barely see.

“Hey,” the man says softly, holding out a hand. Kenma flinches. The man draws his hand back and crouches so he’s not so tall, like he’s talking to a child. “Hi,” he tries again, “I’m Kuroo.” He turns away then, purposely letting his guard down as he reaches for Kenma’s backpack and places it in front of him.

Fear runs through Kenma’s veins, and he knows it’s enough to clog his throat so he won’t be able to offer his own name in return. He tries anyway, manages to at least form his mouth vaguely around the shape of it.

“I’m sorry?” the man, Kuroo, asks.

Kenma just shakes his head.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Kuroo nods. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Well, I’m sorry that happened to you.” He shifts his weight around on his bent legs, readjusts the backpack. “Are you trying to get home?”

He should know better than to trust random men on the street, but Kenma nods.

 

* * *

 

_ “WHAT happened??”  _ Hinata shrieks.

Kenma holds the phone away from his ear. “Shouyou, y’know I don’ like phone calls,” he mumbles. His words blend together a bit and he winces. “I’m ‘kay.”

_ “You’re NOT okay! You’re having trouble speaking!” _

“‘S jus’ the adrenaline.”

_ “Bullshit, Kenma. Tell me you’re safe.” _

Kenma closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He opens them on the exhale, lets his eyes fall on the rising sun. “I’m safe, Shouyou,” he whispers, “Really.”

He can hear Hinata exhale on the line.  _ “Good,” _ he says softly.  _ “I have to go, I have class in an hour, but I will see you tonight, okay? I’m coming over and you’re telling me everything.” _

“I  _ just  _ sent you that long text,” Kenma whines, but he can’t deny that he would appreciate the company of his closest friend.

_ “You’re telling me in _ much  _ greater detail!” _ Hinata announces.  _ “See you tonight, love you!” _

“Love you too,” Kenma mumbles. A second later the line clicks to silence.

The rest of his day passes slowly, in a bit of a haze. His body is exhausted after lying awake all night, drained in the absence of adrenaline, and he takes quick naps on busses and in class. His notes are scribbled, his music is turned up too loud, and he gets uneasy every time a cloud so much as passes over the sun.

But he makes it home fine, even distracted as he is by fatigue and memories of the fighter.

Hinata comes over not long after.

“Tell. Me.  _ Everything,” _ he demands the second his shoes are off.

Kenma blinks at him. “Tea?”

“You’re not stalling, Kenma!” Hinata declares, dragging him by the hand into his own living room. “I don’t care how long it takes, I’m not leaving till you’ve told me the whole story.”

Wrinkling his nose, Kenma mumbles, “That could take forever.”

Hinata’s demeanor changes as he sits on the couch. “Is it really that bad?” he asks softly, “Did they hurt you at all? I swear if any of them –“

“I’m okay, Shouyou,” Kenma interrupts. “Really. They just…” He sighs as he takes a seat beside Hinata. “I was about halfway home. It was cold and I was tired, so I thought… I thought instead of going all the way to the next street, I’d just go between two buildings.”

Hinata frowns. “At one in the morning?”

“Not my best decision, I know. I was… I was walking, and I thought I heard something behind me, so I turned around, but then this guy came from in front of me.” Kenma’s hands tighten into fists on his knees, but he keeps going. “There were three of them. One cornered me, and he… he touched my side, but I got away. I tried –“ His voice stutters and cuts off. Kenma takes a deep breath as Hinata waits patiently, rubbing his back.

He murmurs, “Take your time.”

Kenma collects himself. “I tried to fight, for a second. One tried to grab me, but I ducked, and the other guy did. He held me against him, he had a knife…” He’s shaking now, fingers holding tight to his knees. Hinata’s rubbing arm wraps around his shoulders. “He had a knife to my throat,” Kenma finally whispers.

“Kenma…”

“There was this man,” he blurts out.

“Weren’t there three of them?”

Kenma shakes his head. “There was a new one, different from them. He told me after that his name was Kuroo. He knocked out the blond guy, the first one to corner me, and told the second two to let me go. They said no… They said… they got me first. Like I was just… theirs now.”

They’re both shaking a bit now, but Hinata wraps his other arm around his friend and pulls him close. They both take comfort in knowing the other is there.

When Kenma feels ready to continue, he whispers, “The fighter, Kuroo… he wouldn’t quit. He wasn’t scared. He told them to let me go, and the guy holding me said… that he’d cut me. And Kuroo… he just knocked him right out. And the other guy too. He knocked all three of them out with like, hardly any effort.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Hinata mumbles, but Kenma shakes his head.

“He was just… defending me. As soon as they were all down, he changed. Completely.”

“Explain?”

Kenma sits up from Hinata’s arms, thinking of the gentle way Kuroo had addressed him after. “I was scared. I was shaking so hard, but he didn’t try to approach me. He just crouched down where he was, and he told me his name.”

“Did you say anything to him?” Hinata asks. “How old was this guy?”

“I tried,” Kenma admits. “I wanted to tell him my name. I mouthed it, but I doubt he caught it. He didn’t ask, he just offered to walk me home so I accepted.” He shuffles. “And I don’t know how old he was. A year older than me, maybe two.”

Hinata is glaring, but Kenma knows it’s out of defense when he demands, “He didn’t try to hurt you, did he? For his sake I damn hope he watched himself.”

Kenma manages a small laugh. “He was fine, Shouyou. He didn’t try to touch me, just walked beside me and kept watch. It was… Nice. He carried my backpack.”

“What’d he do when you got home? Linger like some creepy stalker?”

_ “No,” _ Kenma huffs with a roll of his eyes. “I stopped in front of the building and he went, ‘This it?’ and I nodded and tried to say thank you. I think he caught it?” Kenma tries to remember Kuroo’s reaction. “I hope he caught it. He told me to have a goodnight and left after I got inside.”

It’s not completely true. Kenma’s windows face the front of the building, and he admits, privately, that he ran embarrassingly fast up to his apartment to watch what Kuroo would do now that he was alone. He’d sat down on the low wall in front of the handicap ramp and smoked a cigarette, eyes scanning the street until he finished it and walked back the way they had come. Sure he’d lingered, but not in a creepy way.

Hinata squints. “He saved you.”

“Yes.”

“He walked you home.”

“Yes.”

“He… protected you.”

Kenma feels like the situation shouldn’t have this much gravity. People in this city get mugged all the time, if anything there was less of a chance of him getting way. But Kuroo was there. Like a blessing or an angel, he watched over Kenma until he was safe again.

Hit with this realization, Kenma loses his voice. But he looks Hinata in the eye and mouths,  _ “Yes.” _

 

* * *

 

Kenma’s not sure what he expected after the encounter with the fighter in the alleyway, but he kind of assumed it would be an isolated incident. Kenma would go about his life with a fond but fading memory of the man who saved him one night back in college.

He wasn’t expecting to see him a few days later, on a city bus of all places.

It’s an early morning, his second eight am class of the week. Normally he’d rather die than get stuck in such an early class, but this was the only section open with the teacher he wanted, so every Tuesday and Thursday he sucks it up and drags his tired ass across the city.

And so, apparently, does one strangely good fighter named Kuroo.

Kenma is sitting with his eyes closed, headphones in as he counts the number of stops. His building is the fifth. They’re approaching the third: a rundown apartment complex that he had to talk Hinata out of renting in.

He’s not sure what makes him open his eyes as the doors close. It’s seven fifteen on a Thursday morning, and he can physically feel each lid unstick as they open.

But there, sitting directly across from him, is the fighter.

He looks exhausted, dark bags weighing under his eyes, back slumped and fingers loose. His hair is the same messiness it was that night in the alley, but at least his clothes look clean: dark jeans, a gray t shirt, and an unbuttoned red flannel. He’s looking right at Kenma.

“Hello,” he says across the aisle.

Kenma nods at him, just once.

“Glad to see you’re doing okay.”

He nods again.

Kuroo squints like something has just occurred to him. “Do you remember me?”

Offended by the notion that he would  _ forget  _ someone who saved him from most definitely being robbed, if not sexually harassed in some way, Kenma blurts out, “Of course.”

“Oh.” Kuroo straightens, a small smile on his face. “He speaks. Good to know.”

Kenma blushes. He  _ does _ speak, but normally only to those he trusts and feels comfortable with: Hinata, usually his parents, sometimes professors one on one. When he gets too worked up – whether it’s because he’s happy, sad, angry, scared – his voice leaves him. His childhood therapist diagnosed him with selective mutism. Every teacher he’s had since middle school has received a note that excuses him from speaking in class.

“You’re a quiet one,” Kuroo observes. “Do you have a name?”

The bus is full but not packed. Most seats are full but not all. No one clogs the aisle. He swallows a number of times, then whispers,  _ “Kenma.” _

 

* * *

 

After that, Kuroo starts to be a regular pop-up in Kenma’s life.

The next week, on a Wednesday, he ends up leaving twenty minutes too early for his two pm. He’s not sure what made him do it, but there’s not nearly enough time for him to go home, so he parks himself in the cafe across the street, content to sit with a hot chocolate and play on his phone for a while.

It’s a busy cafe, most of the staff and customers are other students from his school, also getting coffee and snacks before class. In the time it takes for the little animation to play between short levels, Kenma glances at the people in line. He knows some of them from classes, from campus, from living in the area for four years.

He knows exactly one of them from an alleyway in the middle of the night.

His lips form around his name, but no sound comes out. Even so, Kuroo’s head turns like he heard him, immediately making eye contact. He smiles, picks up his coffee from the barista, and heads over.

“Hello again.”

Kenma offers his usual nod. The cafe is mostly full of students, but Kenma’s a senior and Kuroo looks older than he is. He could be a grad student, but he’s not sure how to ask without speaking. Instead he takes a sip of his hot chocolate.

Luckily, Kuroo speaks up again. “What brings you here?”

Kenma points to himself, then out the front window at his building, hoping to communicate that he has class there.

Kuroo seems to get it. “That’s a TU building isn’t it? You’re a student?” His phrasing implies that he’s familiar with the school but not attending, which answers the grad student question.

Kenma nods.

“That’s pretty cool. I never went to college. I’d be out by now, though, if I had.” His phone must buzz suddenly, because he pulls it out of his pocket, grinning just slightly at the screen. “I have to go, but I guess I’ll see you around?”

He nods again, and then Kuroo is gone.

 

* * *

 

“Kenma, come  _ on,  _ it’ll be fun!”

“Parties aren’t fun, Shouyou.”

“You literally don’t know that. Parties are  _ so  _ fun.”

Kenma wrinkles his nose. “Explain to me again how a house packed with drunk children is  _ fun.” _

Hinata huffs. They’ve been having this argument for  _ years. _ “I will admit, there’s nothing fun about being squished in with all those people, but there’s nothing  _ bad  _ about it. This house always has good music, and dancing is fun! Everyone’s better at it when they’re drunk!”

“Alcohol tastes bad.”

“Alcohol tastes  _ fine  _ when you mix it right, c’mon.” Hinata rolls his eyes. “And it gets better as you get more drunk.”

Kenma curls up on Hinata’s couch, still reluctant. “I don’t even know what I’d wear to a party,” he mumbles.

If he’s being honest, he kind of wants to go. It’s his  _ senior year _ and he’s never even been to one party, or if he did they were too small to really be called that, just a gathering of a few friends in someone’s dorm or apartment, and even then there wasn’t usually alcohol. He’ll admit it, he’s intrigued.

“We can call Yachi!” Hinata suggests. “She can pick out clothes and do your makeup. She lives just down the hall.”

“You want me to wear  _ makeup?” _

“You’ll look great! She gives me makeup for parties too, and I look super cool!”

He’s suspected, while clicking through Hinata’s Snapchats and Instagram, that he always seems to look a little bit better when he’s at parties.

Kenma pouts. “Fine. Call Yachi.”

 

Yachi  _ delivers. _

Kenma eyes himself in the mirror, but he really can’t knock her efforts. He looks damn good. One side of his head is done up in a loose braid, the other side falling neatly to his chin so it frames his face. She’s put subtle glitter on his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, just above his top lip, and under the tips of his eyebrows. The three of them have more or less the same skin color, so she’s used her own foundation to cover some of his old acne scars, and brushed it over his eyelids under some pale pink.

“It’s a subtle, natural look,” she tells him as he peers in the mirror. “People won’t even be able to tell it’s makeup in the dark.”

“You’ll catch the light really well,” Hinata adds, popping up behind his other shoulder. “Shimmery.”

Kenma nods.

“Now let’s see about clothes,” Yachi hums, scanning Kenma up and down. He blushes. “Do you fit into Shouyou’s clothes?” she asks.

He likes Yachi, manages a quiet, “Yes.”

“Help yourselves!” Hinata encourages, waving his hands toward his closet as he hops up on his bed.

The boys watch as Yachi spends ten minutes picking through Hinata’s laundry, throwing a small pile’s worth onto the bed. Kenma has to admit he’s fairly pleased with the selection. He sets aside mostly skinny jeans and one or two t shirts.

“You might have to wear one of my shirts,” Yachi mumbles as she sorts through the pile she’s selected. “Or a pair of my jeans.”

Hinata pouts. “What’s wrong with my stuff?!”

“Nothing at all!” Yachi assures him quickly, “I’m just worried it’ll look too plain on him.” She eyes the pile again, moving a few things aside with her hands. “Actually…”

Hinata, for some reason, owns a pair of yellow joggers. To Kenma’s horror, Yachi holds them up to his hips, humming to herself.

“I could make these work,” she nods, dropping them back on the bed and digging back into the pile. “Do you have any black sneakers?”

Kenma looks down at the black adidas on his feet, then looks back up.

“Perfect – Here, try this on.” Yachi hands him a plain black long sleeve and the yellow pants, then squeaks and turns around when he starts to undress in front of her. Hinata laughs.

He taps on her shoulder when he’s finished changing, lets her look him over and pushes the sleeves up to his elbows at her instruction.

“This could work,” she nods. “Or… I’ll be right back!” She darts out of the apartment, returning a moment later with one of her own shirts clutched in her hands. “Try this one!” she encourages, turning around to let him change again. “It’s a little big on me, so it should probably fit you.”

Kenma gets it on, only to discover it’s a crop top. The sleeves end at his elbows, though, and his stomach is only visible if he lifts his arms above his shoulders.

Yachi decides this is much better, throws some more glitter on his collarbones and adds a long necklace with a sun pendant, and ushers them both out the door.

 

“You know these hosts?” Kenma mutters near Hinata’s ear as the three of them wait by the front door. He can see people spilled out onto the side porch, as well as flashing lights and dancing in the living room, but the party has not yet grown enough to allow just anyone entry.

“Yeah!” Hinata chirps back, “They’re actually all your age, I’ve been coming to this house since I was a freshman!”

“You were partying when you were a freshman?”

The door opens then, saving Hinata from answering as he hugs the host and introduces Kenma. Bass and lights flood the porch, bathing the three of them. Hinata and Yachi sparkle like the sun and stars, he can only hope he looks half as good.

The host ushers them in, waves to the kitchen and then a closed door, shouts some names at Hinata before disappearing again.

It’s too tight and loud for Kenma to feel comfortable speaking, so he leans into Hinata’s space and scrunches his eyebrows, indicating he wants what the host said repeated.

“There’s drinks in the kitchen!” Hinata shouts, “And alumni in Teru’s room!”

Yachi brightens at the word alumni, and immediately scampers off to the door the host had gestured to.

Hinata laughs as Kenma looks after her in confusion. “Her girlfriend graduated last year, she’s probably in there.” He hadn’t known Yachi had a girlfriend. “Do you want a drink?”

Kenma makes a small face of disgust, but follows Hinata anyway, the two of them slipping easily through the taller dancers crowding the living room to emerge in the kitchen. To their left, a brunette boy sits on the counter, kissing the boy standing between his legs with his hands on his thighs. To their right, a small huddle of girls surrounds the table with drinks.

They either recognize Hinata or are very friendly drunks, because most of them hug him, even kiss his cheek, as they shuffle out of their way. On the table sit several large pitchers of… liquid. It’s dark red, he thinks, strong smelling and definitely staining the cloudy white containers.

“Jungle juice,” Hinata informs him. Kenma frowns. “Vodka and fruit punch, mostly, but people will dump anything in here. Look! There’s even orange slices.”

Kenma rolls his eyes with a small smile.  _ Oh, great. Fruit. _

Hinata pours himself a cup and grabs a straw, gulping some down easily as Kenma lets his eyes scan over the kitchen. The boys at the counter are talking now, foreheads pressed together, grinning. The girls have mostly scattered, dancing with each other and other friends. The door with alumni behind it opens and closes, and Kenma catches sight of messy black hair among the smoke and dim blue lights.

Attention grabbed, he absently taps Hinata on the shoulder and points toward the door, already moving around the doorway to the living room. Hinata slaps his back then his shoulder as he retreats, bidding him farewell, distracted himself now by another boy with straight black bangs.

Kenma weaves easily through the party, lights shifting and catching on the people dancing around him. Trying to march head on through the crowd would get him nowhere, he knows, so he stands sideways, allowing himself to shift with the flow of bodies and music. He’s at the door in no time.

The wooden frame is smooth under his palm as he slides it sideways and steps into the room.

The first thing that hits him is the smell of weed. The window directly across the room is cracked open, but it’s doing little to alleviate the haze shrouding the room. Blue light emanates from somewhere Kenma can’t see, playing tricks with the smoke.

The second thing that hits him is how much quieter it is when he slides the door shut behind him. It’s not that no one’s talking, because they are, but most of the vocals and treble of the music are blocked out by the walls, reduced to bass and mumbling. He likes it.

“Hey, you’re blocking the door,” a girl giggles, snapping Kenma back to reality. Her hair is piled into two buns on the top of her head, and she’s flushed and smiling. When Kenma just blinks at her, she laughs harder. “C’mon, man, get outta the way.”

He finally steps aside, watches her stumble out of the room and disappear into the crowd.

Finally, he takes stock of the people in the room.

There’s a couple in the chair to the right of the door, making out. Gross. A table is shoved into the corner, then a bed. Yachi and two other girls line the edge of it, squishing their faces together and taking selfies, a girl and a boy lying behind them side by side with their legs dangling over the edge, poking each other in the stomach and laughing.

Kenma thinks he sees heads from people sitting on the ground on the other side of the bed, then the table in front of the cracked window, covered in cups, then a red couch. Crammed onto the couch is a boy with crazy black and white hair, shotgunning smoke with a boy with black hair sitting in his lap, a small boy with choppy brown hair, a boy with spiky brown hair and a wide smile, and there on the end is Kuroo.

There are more people to Kenma’s left, between the door and the couch, but he doesn’t care about them anymore. Hinata said this room was full of alumni, but he distinctly remembers Kuroo telling him he’d never gone to college. He must be here with the other people on the couch. His… friends.

Kenma feels like kicking himself. Of course Kuroo has friends, of course he doesn’t just exist in solitude when he’s not popping up in Kenma’s life.

Turning to leave, he fumbles to slide the door open when he hears, “Kenma!”

He flinches, but it wasn’t Kuroo. No, turning around slowly, he sees Yachi waving at him enthusiastically from where she’s still wedged between those two girls on the bed. Kenma glances at Kuroo, praying he hasn’t heard her over the noise in the room, but the older boy’s eyes are already locked on him when they make eye contact.

Kenma waves meekly as he scurries toward Yachi, awkwardly standing in front of her with his back to Kuroo.

“Kenma!” she exclaims again, reaching up to grab his hands. He smiles, lets her. Her eyes are red, movements a little slow, the girl on her left is just passing the bowl to the two lying behind her. “Kenma, this is Kiyoko.” She lets go of one of his hands to touch the shoulder of the girl to her right.

“Hello,” Kiyoko smiles, brushing her black hair behind her ear. Kenma smiles back, put at ease by the quiet kindness in her eyes.

“Where’s Shouyou?” Yachi realizes, glancing toward the door and then around the room.

Kenma gestures in the general direction of the kitchen, then mimes drinking from a cup.

“Ahh, I see,” Yachi smiles. Her eyes catch on something behind him for a second, then she pats the hand she’s still holding. “I’ll let you go mingle, okay, have fun!”

Right as she lets go, there’s a tap on his elbow. Turning around, he sees Kuroo grinning up at him, eyes quickly skimming over his outfit. Normally Kenma would feel exposed, but Kuroo’s eyes are just curious, simply taking in the situation.

“Hi!” he shouts over the noise, fingers fumbling to take Kenma’s hand. His eyes droop, muscles loose as he sways almost impercibly. There’s a half empty plastic water bottle on the arm of the couch beside him.

Kenma mouths a hello, and Kuroo doesn’t seem bothered that there’s no sound.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here!” He tugs on Kenma’s hand, drawing him closer to the couch. “You look really good.”

He hopes his smile and short nod are perceived as  _ Thank you. _

“Y’know, it’s really cool that you showed up! I can’t imagine you go to a lot of parties?”

He shakes his head  _ no. _

“Right, and I obviously don’t go to a lot of college parties, because, y’know, I never went to college, but Yaku over there graduated last year.” Kuroo gestures down the couch to the brown haired boy. “And I grew up with this kid!” He ruffles the spiky hair of the boy beside him. “You’re what, a sophomore now?”

“I’m a  _ junior.” _

“Uh huh. That’s my best boy Bo, down there.” Kuroo gestures the boy with black and white hair, now kissing the boy in his lap. “That’s his boyfriend. He’s a senior. D’you know ‘im?”

It’s a little uncomfortable to study someone while they’re making out, but Kenma thinks he might recognize the black hair and elegant eyes. He shrugs.

The bowl comes to Kuroo from his right, and he takes it with his free hand before immediately passing it to the boy to his left. “Oh,” he says after, looking up at Kenma, “Did you wanna smoke?”

He shakes his head again.

“Okay, that’s cool. I don’t smoke.” He picks up his water bottle, swirling the contents. “And I probably shouldn’t drink anymore. Do you want this?” He holds the bottle up to Kenma, who studies the weird pale orange drink inside. “It’s vanilla vodka and Sunny D. It’s better than it sounds.”

Kenma takes a deep breath, accepts the bottle, and chugs it. It  _ is  _ better than it sounds.

“Haha, like it? There’s more where that came from if you want some,” Kuroo winks, kicking at the backpack he has hidden half behind the couch. Kenma didn’t notice it, which is probably the point, as he assumes it’s full of alcohol.

The girl with the space buns re-enters the room, bringing with her the collective scream of the crowd as the song changes.

“Do you want to dance?” Kuroo shouts.

Kenma really doesn’t know what’s gotten into him tonight. He nods.

The room seems to get three times brighter as Kuroo grins up at him, completely elated. He stands, stumbles a bit, laughs, and hits the boy he was sitting next to on the shoulder. Whatever exchange they have is lost to Kenma, then Kuroo is tugging him out the door by the hand, pulling him into the crowd.

Kenma realizes too late that he doesn’t know how to dance. Kuroo doesn’t seem to care, just places one hand on his waist and bends his knees, bouncing and shaking like a moron. He tries to do the same, but he feels a little too self conscious, and if he lifts his arm to place it on Kuroo’s shoulder his shirt will ride up.

There’s a flash of orange to his left, and suddenly Hinata is there, bouncing and smiling and apparently tipsy.

“Kenma!” he shouts in his ear. His eyes catch the empty water bottle in his hand, and he snatches it. “Wooow, I’m impressed! Let’s trade! Everybody’s a better dancer when they’re drunk!” He replaces the bottle with his cup, smelling of vodka and fruit, then apparently notices Kuroo for the first time. “Hey hey! Who’s this!?”

Gathering his courage, Kenma leans in so his face is almost buried in Hinata’s neck. “Kuroo!” he shouts.

Hinata reels back, bouncing off the chest of the boy with bangs he’d caught in the kitchen. “This is the fighter?!”

He’s starting to feel that vanilla vodka. Lifting the arm not holding the cup, he makes a shooing motion with his hand. Hinata nods at him with a smirk, kisses his cheek, and then he’s gone.

“Who was that?” Kuroo asks, leaning into Kenma’s space to be heard.

He doesn’t want to explain right now. He takes a big gulp of the drink in his hands – it makes him shudder, it’s a lot stronger than what Kuroo had – and lets the music and alcohol wash over him. He lifts his free hand to place it on Kuroo’s shoulder, shivering again as Kuroo’s cool hand comes in contact with the bare skin of his waist.

And they dance.

 

* * *

 

It’s Sunday.

The party was two weeks ago, and Kenma has been trying not to dwell on the fact that he hasn’t seen Kuroo since.

He has a schedule to keep, and he’s sure Kuroo does to, one that doesn’t normally involve saving college kids in back alleys and then randomly and repeatedly appearing in the exact same part of the city as them.

Right now, Kenma’s schedule calls for him to go to CVS, apparently. He ran out of the Excedrin he uses for migraines a week ago, and his anxiety meds are running low as well. He needs band-aids and shampoo and wants to buy Yachi some nail polish for her birthday.

He rolls over in bed, grabbing his phone from the table and checking the time. Quarter to midnight.

It’s late, and he should really have learned his lesson about going out late, but the closest CVS is literally two buildings down, and he doesn’t have class until five pm tomorrow. He’ll be fine.

Kenma hauls himself up, patting his hair down and throwing a black hoodie on over his jeans. He yanks on his sneakers and grabs his wallet and keys and within five minutes is ambling through the shelves of CVS, throwing the cheapest shampoo in his basket and picking through nail polish colors.

Satisfied with yellow and a pale pink, he shuffles over to look through the band-aids, habitually avoiding looking at the person at the other end of the aisle. When they start to move closer, he tucks himself nearer to the shelf to make room, finds himself glancing up automatically.

His breath catches in his throat at what he sees.

Kuroo stands beside him, hunched, right hand clutching his left side under the black leather jacket he has on. He’s wearing only that and a black tank top, black joggers, and black Nike sneakers, covered in dust and – Kenma squints – is that blood?

Bruises scatter his collar bones, cheek, his lip is split and he has a black eye. There’s a cut at the top of his cheekbone, smeared and hastily cleaned, like someone just dumped water on it and rubbed it around. Another one bleeds into his left eyebrow.

“Oh,” he mumbles, startling Kenma out of his inspection. “Ah, hi, Kenma.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> out of my league, fitz and the tantrums  
> [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4d2I6SIs_bk) [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/2Z5wXgysowvzl0nKGNGU0t?si=Mhl4nsgOTEGdOwJwrPvYsw)
> 
> live in the moment, portugal. the man  
> [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whxGyC5GhkI) [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/60eOMEt3WNVX1m1jmApmnX?si=ejmDhx5hTouhs0wFUqTL8Q)


	2. Chapter 2

Kenma stares at Kuroo, bruised and bloody and washed out in the midnight fluorescent lights of CVS. “Hello,” he mumbles, too shocked to remember to keep quiet.

It’s the first time Kuroo has heard him speak since he told him his name, like a month and a half ago, but he doesn’t react. “Just… needed some of these.” He reaches past Kenma’s frozen body to grab a box of butterfly bandages, lifting them in a salute before shuffling away.

Kenma watches him go for a few seconds, still petrified, before hurrying after him. “What the  _ hell _ happened to you?” he hisses. Screw his body’s adversity to speech, he needs  _ answers, _ and asking is the only way to get them.

“You should see the other guy,” Kuroo tries to joke.

“You  _ fought  _ someone?”

Kuroo huffs, “Well I certainly didn’t just stand there and let him hit me.”

“Why were you fighting?” Kenma demands, quickening his pace to keep up as Kuroo tries to stride toward the disinfectants. “Were you trying to help someone?”

His own words hit him suddenly. Is that just what Kuroo does, helps random people on the street? Is Kenma nothing special, just another rescued damsel, another nameless good deed that happens to keep showing up like a clingy stray?

“Can we not talk about this now, please?” Kuroo begs softly, stopping in front of the bottles of hydrogen peroxide and looking down at Kenma.

_ You’re bothering him, _ Kenma’s mind whispers, but he shakes it off.  _ No.  _ Kuroo sat and drank coffee with him. He let him drink his own alcohol, then danced with him, then walked him home again after Hinata told him he was leaving with that boy. He wouldn’t stick around so much if Kenma was a bother.

“When are we going to talk about it, then?” Kenma blurts, then tries to pick his next words carefully. “Every time we meet it’s completely random. Who knows when we’ll see each other again.” He realizes after he finishes talking that Kuroo could just arrange to meet him at that cafe again, or somewhere else, instead of telling him  _ now, _ like he wants, but he gets lucky.

Kuroo sighs, picking up the cheapest bottle of disinfectant and staring down at it like it will tell him what to do. “Get whatever else you need,” he says quietly, not looking up from the bottle, “Check out. I’ll meet you out front.”

Kenma studies him, trying to judge whether or not Kuroo is going to run off as soon as he leaves the aisle. “I have to get a prescription filled,” he says slowly, “Wait for me.”

Kuroo finally looks up at him. “Okay.”

Kenma nods, backing up a few steps before turning around and hurrying to the pharmacy counter. He gives the pharmacist his name and the prescription number, then goes back to the band-aid aisle to actually grab a box. He gets his pain killers and throws in two ice teas after a moment of hesitation. He wishes he could buy Kuroo something a little stronger, but he’s pretty sure they don’t sell alcohol in CVS.

He lets out a heavy breath when he steps into the cool night air twenty minutes later and finds Kuroo leaning against the brick wall, his own bag dangling from his fingers.

“Are you ready?” he asks. Kenma nods, and they fall into step, walking in the opposite direction of Kenma’s building.

Silence hangs in the air around them as they approach the bus stop, then crowds in with them when they get there, making the small area feel tight and claustrophobic. Kenma shuffles uneasily, realizing with a start that he’s probably about to be in Kuroo’s apartment. He’s worried for a second before he realizes no, he trusts him, despite the fact that they’ve only met a few times.

“So,” Kuroo says, and the silence shatters like a bubble, “You’re talking to me now.”

Kenma sucks in a breath, pushes out, “I have selective mutism.”

“A what?” Kuroo leans against the wall and turns to look at him.

Kenma looks away, trying to focus on regulating his voice and keeping his chest open. “It’s… it’s a childhood anxiety disorder.” He shakes the bag in his hand, can hear his prescription pills rattle. “Lidium, for the anxiety. They’re still… waiting for me to grow out of it.”

“So it’s like… you can’t talk because of bad anxiety?”

“Yeah,” Kenma says, but his voice cracks and it comes out a whisper.

“You’re talking to me.”

Kenma huffs. “It’s not that I  _ can’t  _ talk. It’s hard. At this point it’s more… more of a habit. But I… trust you, I guess. It gets easier, with some people.”

Kuroo grins as the bus rolls up. “That’s cool. I’m glad.” He falls silent as they board and take their seats, then elbows Kenma lightly in the arm. “I trust you too, you know,” he says, quiet enough to be hidden from the woman at the back of the bus and the driver up front.

“I’m glad,” Kenma parrots.

 

Kenma recognizes the apartment block Kuroo brings them to. It’s the one he talked Hinata out of renting in, where he saw Kuroo for the first time after he saved him, first thing in the morning on a bus.

Hinata had liked the setup of the building, the proximity to campus, the insulation in the windows. Kenma had to point out the dangerous neighborhood, the drug trafficking, the cheap locks on the doors. He doesn’t mention any of this as Kuroo leads him up four flights of stairs.

“Elevator is out,” he apologizes as he passes the door for the second landing and keeps going.

They finally stop on the fifth floor, and Kenma tries to mask his heavy breathing as he follows Kuroo down the long hallway. He’s full on limping now, clutching his left side and leaning over his arm.

He fumbles with his keys in front of Apartment 515, bruised knuckles shaking as he jimmies the lock until it opens.

The light is on when they step into the living room, a man with a shaved head dozing on the couch in front of a quiet movie. Kenma startles, mouth slamming shut has he considers, for the first time, the possibility of a roommate. He toured these apartments with Hinata, knows they’re two bedrooms.

But Kuroo would probably let a roommate sleep. Instead, he shuffles over to the couch and kicks the other man in the foot. “Kai,” he grunts.

The man opens his eyes, wincing a bit when he sees Kuroo, eyes widening when they land on Kenma, still standing small and confused in the doorway. Kai recovers quickly, nodding at him with a small smile before turning back to Kuroo. “How did it go?” he asks quietly.

“Won,” Kuroo grunts as he pulls a stack of bills out of his pocket. “A good one.” Kenma oggles the pile as Kuroo flips through two fifties and a litany of tens before he pulls out a twenty and hands it to Kai. “Thank you,” he mutters.

To Kenma’s bewilderment, Kai takes it, steps into his shoes, and leaves.

As the door closes, Kenma starts to say, “What – ?” but Kuroo cuts him off.

“One explanation at a time,” he says softly, and leads Kenma past the tiny kitchenette to the left into the bathroom.

He dumps his bag on the counter, then sits heavily on the edge of the tub, finally kicking his shoes off. Kenma tries to ignore the holes in his socks as he places his own bag on the floor, instead digging out the iced teas and handing one to Kuroo. It’s just past one in the morning by now, and he’s sure the neighbors would not appreciate him throwing his weight around.

Kuroo takes a big gulp of the tea, then winces as he starts to work his jacket off his shoulders, letting it plop into the tub behind him. Kenma at least doesn’t see any blood seeping through the shirt, so he assumes it isn’t a stab wound. The cuts on his face are most likely from the skin splitting.

“Let me clean you up,” Kenma whispers.

Kuroo just sighs. He’s so different from the last time Kenma saw him, half drunk and enjoying himself. “Yeah, okay.”

He rests his elbows on his knees, and Kenma starts digging through the bag. “For every thing I fix, I get to ask a question. Sound fair?” Kuroo nods.

Kenma digs through the cabinets, unearthing cotton balls and gauze and bruise cream, then pulls the antiseptic and butterfly bandages from the bag. He douses a cotton ball in disinfectant, swabs the cut above Kuroo’s eyebrow, ignores his pained hissing, and butterflies it shut.

“Why were you fighting?”

Lightly touching the bandage on his forehead, Kuroo sighs again. “I’m an underground street fighter.”

Kenma nearly chokes and drops the new cotton ball he’d just grabbed, but true to his word he doesn’t ask another question until he’s repeated the process for the cut on his cheekbone.

“Is that legal?”

“Do you think it would be underground if it was?”

Kenma studies his face, looking for any lies and assessing the damage left. “No,” he murmurs, “I suppose not.” He uncaps the bruise cream and rubs it as gently as he can into Kuroo’s cheek bone, then moves onto his black eye. “I get two questions for these,” he says, “Look up.”

“First question then,” Kuroo mumbles, looking up at the rod for the shower curtain.

“What’s your given name?”

He lets out a startled laugh. “Tetsurou. What’s your’s?”

Kenma rubs the cream under and around his eye. “It’s Kenma. My family name is Kozume.”

“Oh. Hello, Kozume Kenma.”

Kenma smiles, capping the cream. “Hello, Kuroo Tetsurou.”

They sit in silence for a moment, just smiling, and Kuroo starts to shift forward when his face suddenly contorts in pain. “Shit,” he gasps, hand flying to his side. When it clamps down with too much pressure he hisses,  _ “Fuck,” _ then drops his head and just groans.

“Let me see.”

Gingerly, Kuroo sits up straight, lifting the side of his tank top so Kenma can see his stomach.

The bruise is bad.

It’s a mottled crimson, speckled with bright red and spreading from the middle of his ribs all the way to his hip.

“I’ll spare you your second question,” Kuroo grunts as Kenma stares. “Dirty move. He just flat out kicked me.”

Kenma nods, reminded that he has a second question still. “How long have you been… fighting?” He reopens the bruise cream and starts trying to figure out the least painful way to go about this. When Kuroo doesn’t answer right away, Kenma looks up. He appears to be thinking.

“It’s… kind of a story,” he finally breathes.

“A long story?” He tentatively brushes his fingers over the red bruise, muttering an apology as Kuroo grits his teeth.

“I don’t know,” he gets out. “I’ve never told anyone the whole thing. And definitely not all at once.”

“You don’t have to,” Kenma says, spreading more of the cream around.

“We’ll see.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes as Kenma makes sure the bruise is sufficiently covered, signaling with a nod that Kuroo can put his shirt back down. He starts on the bruises on his right arm, makes it to his elbow before Kuroo starts talking.

“When I was sixteen, I met this girl. Her name was Ayumi. I called her Aya-chan.”

Kenma keeps treating the bruises, doesn’t interrupt even though this sounds unrelated.

“I grew up in this apartment complex,” Kuroo continues, and Kenma can’t help but squint because _ how is any of this related? _ “It was just me and my dad. Dunno what happened to my mom. I never really asked.”

Kenma comes across a huge scrape like road rash, covering his whole forearm. It’s pretty shallow. He disinfects it, wraps it in gauze.

“I went to school most of the time, I guess, just for something to do. Kids stayed away from me, they knew where I lived, the kind of person that made me. I guess they were scared.” He lifts his arm to inspect the gauze as Kenma moves onto the other. “My dad used to take me to these bars with him, just to hang out. It was cool, but I learned pretty quick how to defend myself.

“When I got to high school, I became like… something of a challenge. A trophy. These guys, they thought they were tough, and they’d dare each other to try to fight me. If they could win, I don’t know, I guess they thought they’d be all cool or something.”

He watches as Kenma finishes with the bruise cream, then dabs up the rest of the blood from his face with a wet towel. “All done,” he says in the pause, and steps back to let Kuroo stand.

They move out to the couch, and Kuroo restarts the movie Kai had been watching, turning the volume down even lower. Kenma cradles his ice tea in his hands, too wound up to drink it.

“Anyway, I didn’t really get it at first. Didn’t care to. I was real angry as a teenager, I figured if these assholes wanted to fight, fine, I’d fight them. And there was always pride clinging to my shoulder, screaming that I’d better fucking win, because who was I if I let these prissy little brats put me on the ground?”

Kenma draws his knees up to his chest. It’s not hard to imagine: shorter, skinnier Kuroo, angry and violent and prideful, fighting in school yards, hanging out in bars. He wonders where that girl comes in, though.

“By my second year… I don’t know. I guess I ran out of guys to fight, or they decided I wasn’t worth it or something. People stopped challenging me. That’s really when kids started avoiding me. Sometimes I’d catch pieces of their rumors. They were pretty funny.”

“What’d they think?” Kenma finally asks.

Kuroo barks a laugh, then winces. “All kinds of things. Creative, until you remember the area. They thought I was some kind of drug dealer, or that I’d done time at Juvie over one of the breaks. I even heard once I was part of a Yakuza family.”

Kenma smiles, then gently teases, “I think a Yakuza member would be able to afford a nicer apartment.”

Kuroo smiles. “You’re probably right. But anyway, I didn’t spend a lot of time outside of this complex when I wasn’t at school or with my dad. He worked nights, mostly, and bars wouldn’t really let me in without him. You know, since I was like, sixteen.

“So I had this one spot, right? No one ever parked at the very top of the parking garage, because not enough people living here had cars, so I’d go up there and just get drunk on my own.” He runs a hand through his hair. “It was kinda sad, in retrospect. Well, it was really fucking sad, but I was having a blast at the time.

“So anyway, one night I go up there, and there’s this chick sitting on the hood of a car. She’s just sitting there, it’s the only fucking car on the whole level, and she’s way too young to be driving it. Color me curious.”

Kenma smiles at the weird phrase, doesn’t interrupt.

“Ayumi,” Kuroo sighs, and Kenma had already assumed, but it’s nice to hear it confirmed. “She really looked like a star, too. Had this fine, blonde hair, always painted her nails yellow. She was beautiful.”

Kenma feels his chest twist, just a bit, listening to Kuroo describe someone so fondly, then he almost immediately feels guilty. He has no claim to Kuroo, and if the sad look on his face is anything to go by, this Ayumi girl is no longer in his life anyway.

“I thought I loved her, at the time. I didn’t know – I didn’t have another name for whatever drew me to her, I just knew she was cute and friendly and I was an angry, horny kid.”

A sharp laugh escapes both of them, Kenma’s more surprise, Kuroo’s leaning toward self-deprecating.

“I’ll ah, I’ll spare you the details of our year ‘in love’ –” he makes air quotes, “ – but in the end… I got her knocked up. Her dad found out… I don’t really… I don’t know what happened to her.”

Kenma doesn’t know what to say. He just stares, trying not to let his mouth hang open.

“It was a fucking mess, Kenma, my dad was working nights and her’s days, so we managed to avoid both of them for a shockingly long time, switching back and forth between apartments, baggy sweatshirts if she had to see her dad… And can you fucking believe it, he was born early. Like, three weeks. We –”

Kuroo chokes on a sob, and Kenma gathers his courage. He scoots across the couch, gently laying a hand on Kuroo’s shoulder and drawing him in. He slouches into Kenma’s chest, sniffling into his hoodie, shaking his head.

“My life went to shit, Kenma. I lost it all, in just a few days. My girl, dragged off by her dad to some far away city. Three days later, my old man, fucking shot to death in a drive by.”

Kenma startles, not expecting his dad to wind up gone at the end of the story as well. Kuroo kept mentioning Ayumi disappearing, her dad leaving with  _ Ayumi… _

“What happened to the baby?” Kenma asks, so quietly Kuroo would not have been able to hear it if their heads weren’t so close together.

He laughs, sharp and bitter, and Kenma prepares for the worst. But Kuroo surprises him.

“His name is Fukunaga Shouhei,” he murmurs, almost reverent. “He has black hair like me and gray eyes like his mom. He’s five years old, and we need to be quiet, because he’s asleep in his room right now.”

 

Neither one of them speaks for an hour, after that.

They do some shuffling, Kenma ends up with his back against the arm of the couch, legs spread out over it until Kuroo follows him, picking his legs up and placing them over his lap. Ten minutes into the silence he slumps again, leaning sideways to rest his head on Kenma’s chest. Kenma combs his fingers through unruly hair for nearly forty minutes.

He’s trying to figure out how to escape Kuroo’s grasp without waking him up when the older man speaks up. Kenma startles – he thought he was asleep.

“You have four more questions,” he murmurs.

“Ah – I do?”

“Mhm.” Kuroo doesn’t sit up, and Kenma switches from combing through his hair to just lightly massaging his scalp. “For the bruise on my stomach, and my whole left arm. The upper half of my right arm.” He gestures to the gauze wrapped around his whole right forearm. “I think this deserves a question of its own.”

Kenma thinks. In the silence, Kuroo mumbles, “That feels nice.”

“You owe me five answers,” Kenma finally says.

“Why’s that?”

“Your whole life story was good and all, but it didn’t really answer my question.”

Kuroo laughs a little bit and shifts, and for a moment Kenma is afraid he’s going to sit up, then feels ridiculous for worrying about it. But Kuroo doesn’t sit up, just rotates a bit so his left arm can slip behind Kenma’s back, his right arm draping over his stomach. Kenma tries not to blush. He’s never really cuddled with anyone but Hinata before.

“What was it again?”

“How long have you been fighting? You said you did a lot as a first year, but you also said you stopped. The story ended before you were doing it professionally, which is all I wanted to know.”

“Oh.” Kuroo goes quiet again. Kenma resumes massaging his scalp. “I guess… Not long after Shouhei was born. I needed money. I’d never been good at anything else, and I guess I just… Growing up here, Kenma, I had a lot of friends in pretty low places. One of the guys I was at the party with, Bokuto. He’s only a year older than me, but he remembered me from all these bar fights I used to get into. I ran into him one night, and he said he could get me someone to fight, and if I won I’d get a lot of money.”

“And it just… kept going?”

“I’d go back to him when the money got low. He’d find me another fight. When I kept winning, people started coming to him. I kinda got a name.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just Kuro. Cuz of my hair and my clothes, I guess. And cuz it’s almost my name.”

Kenma nods, cards his fingers through Kuroo’s hair a few more times to try to fix it. “I like it.” Kuroo hums against his chest. “Four more questions?” Kenma asks quietly, just to confirm.

“I don’t care. You’ve already unlocked my tragic backstory. Ask whatever you want.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Okay. So, Kai was here babysitting?”

“Yeah. He lives down the hall. Super nice guy. Shouhei likes him.”

“How… old are you now?”

“You can’t do the math yourself?” Kuroo chuckles. When Kenma just gives a light tug on his hair, he answers, “I’m twenty three. Shouhei wasn’t born until I turned eighteen. You?”

“I’m in my last year of college, you can’t do the math yourself?” Kenma parrots in annoyance.

“Feisty.”

“I’m twenty one.”

“Aww, a little baby!”

“Shut up!” Kenma bites, accentuated by another weak tug on Kuroo’s hair. Kuroo just laughs. “I’m the same age as that boy your… your manager is dating.”

Kuroo chuckles. “Who, ‘Kaashi? He’s still a kid too. Kou’s given him… a bit more of an edge, though. He wouldn’t have been caught dead at parties like that before Bo got his hands on him.”

Kenma slumps a little, knees jutting up in the air. “I don’t have an edge. My life is pretty dry, I guess.”

Kuroo reaches up, tweaks his nose. Kenma bats his hand away. “Let’s keep it that way, yeah?”

 

* * *

 

Despite his only class on Monday being at five pm, he’s almost late.

He wakes up alone on the couch around noon, a balled up hoodie under his head and a blanket covering him. Kuroo greets him good morning, shoves some breakfast in him, and tells him Shouhei apparently gave him his own bedspread when Kai took him to school this morning. They spend more than three hours talking – about much lighter topics, this time – then watch a few episodes of some show, before Kenma realizes what time it is and panics.

With forty minutes to make it back to his apartment, shower, change, and get to class, Kenma is too busy tapping his feet and worrying to pay close attention to what he’s doing. He forgets to wash his hair, and his socks don’t match.

But he’s not late. So it’s fine.

 

* * *

 

He’s too busy that week to think of Kuroo much, but unfortunately, Hinata is not.

“You saw him this past weekend, didn’t you??” he demands.

“Please get out from under the table, Shouyou,” Kenma mutters, not looking up from his review packet.

Hinata lets out a full body sigh from where he is sprawled on the library rug on his back, leaving Kenma absolutely no foot room. “I don’t know  _ why  _ you don’t want to talk about him so bad,” he grumbles.

“We don’t talk about him. You interrogate me.”

“I just wanna make sure he’s safe!!” Hinata cries, sitting up too fast and banging his forehead on the table. “OW! Shit!”

“You’re gonna get us kicked out!” Kenma hisses, slapping his pen on the table. “Don’t you have any work to do? Just let me finish this!”

Hinata rubs his head, lying back down on the floor, muttering apologies.

 

Come the weekend, Kenma is ready to fucking relax. As always, Hinata has other ideas.

_ “Guess what we’re doing~”  _ he sings over the phone, and Kenma closes his eyes, already praying that Hinata is not in his lobby, that he’s not towing Yachi along with him, that they’re not going to go to a party, that he’s going to just be left alone this weekend…

“We’re going to a party,” Kenma mumbles in defeat, right as Hinata shouts, _ “We’re going to a party!!” _ Kenma sighs.

_ “It’s just a birthday party for another one of my friends in your year, then I  _ promise  _ I won’t drag you out anymore, okay?” _

“Whatever,” Kenma grumbles. “Are you downstairs?”

_ “Yeah. Yachi’s with me.” _

Three for three. “I’ll see you in a minute, then.”

_ “Love you!” _ Hinata crows. Kenma hangs up.

Yachi once again manages to make something cool and lowkey out of his lackluster wardrobe. He’s already wearing blue-gray jeans, so she throws some white sneakers at him and ties a red flannel around his waist, finds him a plain black shirt with just a bold  **06** on each sleeve. “Tie your hair in a ponytail,” she tells him. “Do you own glasses?”

He does own glasses.

“I look like a hipster,” he remarks, staring at himself in the full body mirror, shooing Hinata away from where he’s batting at his tiny ponytail.

“I – Is that bad?” Yachi squeaks, “I can find you something else, or –”

“It’s fine,” Kenma assures her with a quiet smile. “Did you bring makeup?”

 

The party is at a different house this weekend.

It’s bigger, but it’s just as packed. The birthday boy must be pretty popular, Kenma thinks sourly as a bouncer – a  _ bouncer _ at a college party – looks at him and nods him in. He gestures over his shoulder toward the guy with an annoyed look as if to ask,  _ What’s with him? _

Hinata shrugs. “They don’t want it to get shut down, probably, so he’ll stop people when it gets too full.”

Kenma rolls his eyes. It looks pretty full to him.

The front hall is packed with people, as is the living room, as is the kitchen. But it doesn’t really seem like a  _ party,  _ from what Kenma has seen. There isn’t a lot of music, or weird lighting, or dancing. He realizes why when they get to the kitchen at the back of the house.

There’s a door leading out to the back porch, beyond it the backyard. People stand shoulder to shoulder, jumping, dancing, shouting along to the music coming from the speaker perched on what he assumes is some kind of platform on the porch railing. A few people stand on top of it, dancing, one of them a short boy with spiky black and blond hair and a cheap plastic Burger King crown. Kenma assumes this is the birthday boy.

The yard is filled with just as many people, less dancing and more socializing, with a beer pong table set up around the corner of the house. He spots a familiar head of hair standing to the side of the table, stands up on his toes to get a closer look.

“I heard from Teru that your fighter guy might be here!” Hinata shouts, eyes scanning the yard.

Kenma squints, wonders if now that Hinata approves, he’s trying to get them together. He taps him on the shoulder to get his attention, then gestures toward the beer pong table.

“Look at that. Have fun, Kenma!”

He pats Hinata on the arm before moving through the crowd. When he arrives at the beer pong table, he recognizes some of the people around it. The man Kuroo refers to as Bo is at one end, one arm around his pretty boyfriend, one arm expertly tossing the ping pong ball in his hand into the cup at the point of the other end.

Hinata’s friend Teru is the one who snatches up the cup and chugs it, a girl Kenma doesn’t recognize groaning beside him. “You’re too good at this, Kou!” she complains.

“Sorry, Yukie!” Bo shouts back. His boyfriend smirks.

Kuroo is standing right at the middle of the table, laughing and holding a disposable coffee cup. He’s wearing sunglasses, for some reason, so Kenma can’t see what’s become of his black eye, but the two cuts on his face have closed and become scabs. The sleeves of his red bomber jacket hide his arms, but he assumes those bruises are fading too. When Kenma steps up beside him he hollers in delight.

“Kenma!” he exclaims, throwing an arm around him. “Are you  _ following  _ me?! How are you always where I am?”

Kenma smiles a bit in greeting, blushing at Kuroo’s arm around him. He just shrugs in answer.

“Oh! I forgot about the whole mute thing.” He pushes his sunglasses up and leans in, eyes wide in earnest, and Kenma tries not to wrinkle his nose at the smell of alcohol. At least his black eye looks better. “Do you wanna go somewhere else and talk?” he asks.

He’s touched, but reaches up and pats Kuroo’s cheek, shaking his head. He’s here, he’s dressed up, he may as well stay and try to have a good time. Furrowing his eyebrows, he points to the coffee cup in Kuroo’s hand.

Kuroo laughs, “Oh, it’s just straight vodka.”

A sharp laugh is startled out of Kenma as well.

“You want some? Burns, but it’s the quickest way to get drunk.”

He accepts the cup with a shrug, shuddering as he takes a sip.

Kuroo laughs again. “Ha, sorry, this was the only portable cup I had when I was leaving. Not big enough to add a mixer. Hey, you wanna play pong with me? I have winner, but I don’t have a partner.”

Teru’s toss misses by a mile, and Bokuto goes scrambling into the yard after it.

Kenma tugs Kuroo down by his shoulder, leans in to say in his ear, “I think the fastest way to get drunk is to play Bo in beer pong.”

Kuroo pulls back with a mighty laugh, squeezing Kenma with the arm he’s never removed from his waist.

 

Kenma wakes up Saturday morning in an unfamiliar room.

The air on his face is cool, but the thick plaid bedspread he’s cocooned in is quite warm. The rest of the queen mattress is bare, covered with a maroon fitted sheet, a few crumbs, the mattress sitting on the floor in a corner. There’s a folding chair with another blanket draped across it, a dresser, a hamper, and a clock on the wall. A heavy curtain covers the only window, blocking most of the light, and Kenma remembers suddenly that he’s in Kuroo’s room.

After Bo – Bokuto Koutarou, as he’d finally introduced himself – had beat their asses in beer bong two games in a row, both of them were thoroughly sloshed. They’d danced a little bit, given their well wishes to the birthday boy when they happened to run into them, and ended up in a secluded corner of the living room, Kuroo leaning over him where he stood against the wall, grinning and quietly telling him about his week. Kenma had been drunk enough and relaxed enough to mutter responses every now and then.

When the party got shut down at three am, Kuroo proclaimed he was too drunk to take Kenma all the way home, so they’d just have to go back to his place, since it was closer and he’d have to relieve Kai of babysitting duty at some point.

Kenma pulls the bedspread closer and breathes in. It smells like earth and cologne and very faintly of cigarettes, like the man he stumbled in drunk and giggling with at almost four in the morning. He stands slowly, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the bedspread behind as he makes his way toward the dresser. His flannel is folded neatly on top of it, placed beside his phone and glasses.

He pulls on his flannel and scrubs his hands over his eyes, trying to clear the grogginess from his hangover. It’s no use, the pressure just makes his eyes hurt, so he puts his glasses back on and turns on his phone to check the time. It’s about noon.

Tiptoeing over to the door, he cracks it open and peers out. Kuroo is sprawled out on the couch, half is body hanging over the edge, one arm above his head as he snores softly. Kenma smiles to himself and closes the door again.

He certainly doesn’t want to wake him up, after he’d been so kind as to take him home and give him his bed, so he’d better stay in here and find some way to entertain himself. There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of… innocent investigating.

Color him curious.

A somewhat thorough sweep of Kuroo’s room reveals nothing he hasn’t already told Kenma. There’s some junk in the table next to his bed: takeout menus, painkillers, headphones, Melatonin. Nothing interesting. The dresser is the same, nothing in it but clothes, nothing on it but a single lamp.

Upon returning to the bed, Kenma does find one thing, taped to the wall near the pillow.

The upper half of the picture is the black night sky, the bottom off white cement. Slightly off center stand two people, a girl and a boy, high schoolers. The girl’s hair is blonde, piled on top of her head in a careless bun, eyes smudged in hasty eyeshadow. She looks like she’s talking, mouth half open in an almost smile, eyes focused just to the right of the camera.

The arm around her shoulders is clad in red flannel, connecting to, just as he pictured, shorter, skinnier, Kuroo. His hair is shorter and lighter, and he’s making an obscene gesture with his tongue and his hand.

It’s a polaroid, bigger than the miniature modern ones Kenma often sees. There’s a date, both of their names. Despite the twinge of jealousy he feels, Kenma smiles. Kuroo doesn’t look tired, or stressed. He looks proud and mischievous and honestly… dangerous.

Kenma’s fingers linger on it a moment longer before he turns away to see if Kuroo is awake yet.

He’s just sitting up, groaning and holding his head. When he sees Kenma standing in the doorway he offers a weak smile. “You feelin’ as shitty as I am?”

“Yeah,” Kenma croaks. He wasn’t expecting his voice to be that rough.

“What time is it?” Kuroo mumbles.

“Noon. Ish.”

Kuroo rubs a hand through his hair, yawning and muttering, “Good, okay, I have plenty of time.”

Kenma finally steps out of the doorway, stepping carefully through the dark living room to sit beside the older man on the couch. “Plenty of time for what?” he asks, gently pressing their shoulders together.

Kuroo glances at where their arms touch, but doesn’t move away. “I have a fight tonight. Gotta be there around nine.”

It’s… strange, hearing that. Knowing for certain that later on Kuroo will be fighting. It was one thing to know it objectively, but it’s quite different, actually hearing him say it. Hearing him plan his day with it in mind.

“Why do you still fight?” Kenma blurts out. Kuroo just glances at him in confusion, so he tries to elaborate. “I mean like… you’re older now.”

“I’m better.”

“Yeah but, you could… I don't know, take classes. Start working toward a degree. You could get a real job.”

Kuroo shrugs. “And get paid what? Minimum wage? Deal with customers? No thanks.”

“Customers aren’t gonna beat the shit out of you,” Kenma says softly, reaching out to touch the scab on Kuroo’s cheekbone.

Slowly, almost as if not to startle him or hurt his feelings, Kuroo pulls his face away from Kenma’s fingers. “I can handle it,” he replies at an equally low volume. “This pays well. And I kinda like it.”

Kenma squints at him incredulously. “You  _ like _ it.”

Kuroo just shrugs again, unperturbed. “Yeah. Keeps me in shape. Makes me useful. Sure helped you out, didn’t I?”

A blush rises to Kenma’s cheeks as he looks away. “I suppose you did,” he allows. Then, quieter, “Thank you.”

He turns back, about to say something else, but Kuroo’s face is suddenly very close, blowing warm air over his cheeks. In the dark of the room, his gold eyes seem to glow as they glance repeatedly at his lips. Kenma stares until his own flutter closed, lashes brushing his cheeks as he breathes out, leans in…

But Kuroo pulls back.

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo breathes as he turns away, jaw flexing.

Kenma’s breath shudders on the next exhale and he twists his fingers together in his lap. Stupid. “I’m… sorry for assuming,” he chokes. He’s so fucking  _ stupid, _ holy shit. Kuroo’s probably not even gay. He has a  _ kid,  _ after all, Kenma’s just a friend to him. A friend who he consistently shares his own alcohol with and then dances with at parties, who he lets clean and bandage his injuries, lets sleep in his bed…

“Kenma, no, listen,” Kuroo starts, reaching over to cup Kenma’s cheek in his hand. “Look at me, Kenma, I’m so sorry.” His own eyes are wet, and he seems to be fighting to keep his voice steady. “I like you,” he murmurs, “I do, but… that’s the one thing, I guess. About what I do. It’s too dangerous for me to get too close.”

Heart doing somersaults in his chest, Kenma reaches up to hold the hand Kuroo has on his face. “Too dangerous,” he repeats. It doesn’t sound like a question, and he curses his uneven and unpracticed voice. “Why?” he clarifies, “How?”

Kuroo rakes his fingers through his hair. “There’s… It follows you.” He seems to grapple with his words for a moment, and Kenma lets him. “It’s not just, one fight, it’s done. It stays.”

“You’re not making any sense, Kuroo.”

“I know,” he huffs. “It’s like… People know me, now. After so long. And when they lose, sometimes they hold a grudge. It’s not unheard of for me to just get jumped when I’m out running errands or something.”

Kenma’s jaw closes with an audible click, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“A lot of the fighters are like, gang members. And they get pissed when I kick their asses. Which, y’know is understandable, I get pissed when people kick my ass, but really? Do I go after them? No. That’s just common decency.”

A laugh bubbles out of Kenma’s mouth, reluctant.

Kuroo keeps scratching at his hair. “I’ve worked hard to keep Shouhei safe. It’s difficult but, I’m careful about where I take him in public.” He looks up at Kenma, eyes filled with a pain that Kenma doesn’t quite understand. “I can’t do that for another person,” he whispers, hoarse. “I can’t… if something ever  _ happened _ to you, because of me… I couldn’t take that.” His voice cracks, and suddenly Kenma understands when he says, almost silently, “Not again.”

He’s thinking of Ayumi. He lost her because of something he did, because he couldn’t protect her. He lost his father because he was powerless to save him. Anyone who gets close to him seems to be taken.

“Okay,” Kenma whispers back, voice quiet in the dark living room. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> memories, panic at the disco  
> [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZwmqOw72tMM) [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/0k8tcDGLSqUQAeuoOaUJj2?si=c3Z7_K-bRiKitLfkb9W-jA)
> 
> wait by the river, lord huron  
> [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9HVMcpDGgU) [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/2g9LXMNIBCqmngHpH9nXv0?si=N7345CMZSX2IM9hX5M4IxA)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these are practically unmodified texts between me and one of my friends i'm sorry if they don't make sense to you they don't fucking make sense to me either

They  _ finally _ exchange phone numbers, after having known each other for like, six weeks, as Kuroo whines while he quickly types his number into Kenma’s phone. Kenma had just shrugged and teased that he was content only seeing Kuroo when the universe forced him to.

Kenma is still trying to process the situation they’ve found themselves in.

They like each other. That much has been made perfectly clear. But Kuroo has some (reasonably valid) fear of being associated with Kenma in public. (Outside, apparently, of the college parties they seem to keep running into each other at.)

So now they have… This. This strange in-between.

Kenma finds it quite nice, though it’d be a lie to say there aren’t times when he aches so strongly for something more that he has to walk away from Kuroo for a few minutes before he does something reckless. But for the most part, it’s better than anything else Kenma has experienced as far as romance goes.

He’s never really gone on dates. He can’t talk most of the time, which makes it pretty difficult to meet new people, so it’s mostly just been him and Hinata since early high school. With Kuroo, they hardly ever leave his apartment to see each other, and there’s a certain closeness that’s different than what he has when he cuddles with Hinata.

Sitting side by side on the couch, Kuroo’s fingers will drag along the outside of his thigh where his arm rests around his waist. Sometimes they’ll turn to look at each other at the same time, the air suddenly charged with something so strong it makes Kenma’s voice leave him. Kuroo’s hands will sneak under his shirt when they’re dancing at a party, just barely, fingertips light and chaste and almost tickling.

But they don’t kiss, or hold hands, or share the stupid bed when Kenma passes out at his apartment after doing homework for too long or getting drunk at a party. It’s a little bit infuriating.

Still, texting all day is something Kenma enjoys very much. They have dumb debates and conversations, share shitty memes and pictures of things they find around the city. Kuroo receives a lot of pictures of Hinata not studying. Kenma receives mostly ugly selfies and a few shots of wide-eyed Shouhei, who he meets a few times over the course of the next month or so. The boy is quiet, but likes to laugh.

Kuroo insists on keeping him slightly at a distance. Kenma likes to imagine they’re just taking it slow.

 

* * *

 

 **kuro**  
if u could be a fish any fish what kind

 **kenma**  
hmm. let me do some research

 **kuro**  
ok

 **kuro**  
not too much research

 **kenma**  
i’d be a koi fish. don’t have to live longer than thirty five max

 **kuro**  
good choice

 **kuro**  
idk what fish id be

 **kenma**  
you could just agree with me and be right

 **kuro**  
ur right

 **kuro**  
wtf

 **kuro**  
bet i could find a cool fish

 **kuro**  
whats even so great abt koi fish

 **kenma**  
nothing, really, i just think they’re pretty

 **kuro**  
huh

 **kuro**  
yea

 **kuro**  
id b a betta fish

 **kenma**  
don’t you think that’s a little predictable?

 **kuro**  
uhh if by predictable u mean FITTING then yea

 **kenma**  
okay, that’s fair

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Hinata whispers, nudging Kenma in the shoulder. “Hey, Kenma.”

“What,” Kenma mutters around a mouthful of food. He’s spent the last four hours at the library, until Hinata texted him to meet him at the McDonald’s down the street for dinner. He looks up at the ginger across from him, only to find him staring into the opposite corner of the restaurant.

“Isn’t that your fighter?”

“He has a  _ name,”  _ Kenma sighs automatically, but his eyes whip to follow Hinata’s anyway. Tucked into the corner by the window, he spies a leather jacket and tight jeans, a half eaten burger in its box and a bright happy meal. “Oh,” Kenma says softly.

Before he can reach out and stop him, Hinata is on his feet and walking away, leaving Kenma no choice but to scramble after him.

“Hi!” Hinata chirps when he gets close enough.

Kuroo spins around in confusion, the lines in his face deepening as he peers at Hinata’s face. “Uhh, hi,” he responds, clearly recognizing him but uncertain as to where from.

Kenma finally catches up. “Um, Kuro, hi,” he tries to smile. He waves to little Shouhei, silently clutching his happy meal toy and watching. He waves back.

“Oh, hey, Kenma,” Kuroo grins, then turns to Hinata again. “Ah, sorry, I knew I recognized you. Hinata, isn’t it?”

Hinata grins broadly, bowing a bit. “That’s me!”

Kuroo sticks his hand out to shake. “Good to officially meet ya.” He gestures then to Shouhei. “This here’s my kid. Say hi, Shouhei.”

Shouhei ducks a bit behind his happy meal box, intimidated by two grown men standing in front of him regardless of how short they actually are in comparison to his father. Still, he lifts one small and waves again, still clutching his toy with the other.

“Hey, wow, your name’s Shouhei??” Hinata exclaims, leaning forward, “Mine’s Shouyou! That’s so close!”

Shouhei grins. “Shouyou!”

“That’s me!” Hinata laughs.

Kenma slaps a hand on Hinata’s shoulder and repeats, completely flat, “This here’s my kid. Say hi, Shouyou.”

Kuroo cracks up.

“But I already said hi,” Hinata says in confusion.

 

* * *

 

 **kenma**  
have you seen the new wonder woman movie?

 **kuro**  
i have a 5yo ive hardly seen any movie not intended for his demographic in the past 4 years

 **kenma**  
it’s good. chris pine. you should watch it

 **kuro**  
if the chance arises i shall seize it

 **kenma**  
how old is chris pine anyway? he seems timeless

 **kuro**  
hes chris nine

 **kenma**  
thirty seven

 **kuro**  
chris nine

 **kuro**  
do u think hes chrisp

 **kenma**  
stop

 

* * *

 

“I don’t care  _ what _ he tells you, he is  _ not  _ allowed to have sugar once I leave this apartment, got it?” Kuroo whispers, pointing accusingly over Kenma’s shoulder to Shouhei, curled up in the corner of the couch and staring at the television.

Kenma nods seriously, swearing not to fall victim to Shouhei’s large eyes and pleading frown. Hopefully he’ll just fall asleep watching the movie, and Kenma won’t have to argue.

Kuroo nods back, then bends over him, leaning precariously on the cusp of a kiss goodbye. He feels warm as Kuroo’s face comes dangerously close, eyes searching and longing… Kenma closes his eyes and prays.

He pulls back, and Kenma feels a flare of disappointment in his chest, but he forces it down to listen.

“I should be back around midnight,” Kuroo says softly, awkwardly leaning back and looking to the side. Kenma nods without speaking, stuffing his hands in his pockets to quell the urge to touch. “Yeah,” Kuroo coughs, then leans around him. “Goodnight, Shouhei. Be good for Kenma, yeah?”

Shouhei looks up. “Dad, I will punch you in the leg.”

“Charming as always,” Kuroo sighs, then rolls his eyes. “Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too!”

Kuroo glances at Kenma once more before stepping backwards out of the apartment and letting the door close.

“Kenma-san, can I have some ice cream?” Shouhei asks immediately.

Kenma can’t help but laugh. “Don’t play innocent. You know the rules.”

Shouhei pouts, angrily cuddling his cat plushie closer. Kenma laughs again at the contrast of such a face and such a toy. “What movie are you watching?” he asks, sitting down beside the child. Growing up and living in a more business and college part of the city, he’s never given much thought as to whether or not he likes kids. He’d never really interacted with them. But Shouhei is quiet and mature and easy to be around, and Kenma likes him.

“Grave of the Fireflies,” Shouhei replies easily.

Kenma blinks in surprise. It’s a Ghibli movie, if he remembers correctly, but definitely one of the darker ones he’s seen. “Isn’t that about, um, war?” he asks tentatively.

Shouhei just shrugs. “Yeah. Tou-san said he watched it when he was a kid. He says it’s okay.”

The thought of Kuroo letting his five year old child watch a movie about how the war destroyed two children’s lives is a bit doubtful, but Kenma figures he was watching it when Kuroo left, so he must  _ know. _ And he must have put it on for him in the first place. Shouhei doesn’t know how to work the ancient DVD player.

They watch for a while.

“Kenma-san, look at this!” Shouhei cries out of the blue. Kenma startles, but looks over at the small toy the boy is proudly brandishing. It's a little Voltron toy, the red lion from the original anime. “It has a light!” He presses a button on the back of its head, and the little LED light in its mouth lights up.

“Hey, that's pretty neat.”

“Yeah. It's too big though.”

“Too big… for what?”

Shouhei shrugs. “It's just too big. Look. I have to do this.” Without warning he snaps one of the legs off.

“Ah! Shouhei!”

“No, look!”

Kenma sighs to himself, settles into the couch to watch as Shouhei stands up on the cushions and starts wrestling the lion into the pocket of his shorts. It fits, barely, and then he drops the detached leg in.

“Why’d you do that?” Kenma smiles.

“I gotta put it in my pocket, c’mon,” Shouhei mumbles.

Kenma laughs.

 

Kenma doesn’t realize he’s dozed off until he wakes to the sound of keys in the lock.

Beside him, Shouhei sleeps curled up with his fluffy blue blanket, right where Kenma left him. The movie has returned to the menu, the screen dimmed from disuse. Kenma looks up right as the door creaks open.

Kuroo steps into the apartment looking tired but happy, toeing off his shoes with a wave, a wad of crumpled bills in his fist. His lip is split, his cheekbone bruised, and it's impossible to tell if he's shaking from adrenaline or excitement.

Silence has surrounded Kenma for too long for him to speak, but he nods toward the money in Kuroo’s hand as if asking for an explanation. Clearly he’s won, if he’s holding money, but he wants the details.

“Let me put him to bed,” Kuroo whispers, nodding toward his son. He smacks the cash on the table in front of Kenma with a grin. “Count that for me, yeah?”

Kenma blinks at the dirty bills, then at Kuroo scooping up his son, blanket and all, then back at the bills. He gets to work.

When Kuroo comes back out, the money sits in stacks, neatly shuffled into piles of 1,000Y, 2,000Y, 5,000Y, and one 10,000Y bill.

“Would you look at that,” Kuroo beams. “How much?”

It totals 31,000Y, but when Kenma opens his mouth, no sound comes out. Blood has begun to seep out of Kuroo’s split lip again, crusting just to the right of it. Kenma tries to clear his throat, but he can’t do more than force a little bit of air up through it. His mouth won’t open. Concern enters Kuroo’s eyes, but all Kenma can see is his swollen cheekbone.

“You okay, Kenma?”

He forces himself to reach out, lets his fingers hover just above the purpling skin on Kuroo’s face.

Kuroo’s eyes soften as he takes Kenma’s hand away from his face, though he doesn’t let it go afterward. “Hey, I’m okay,” he smiles gently. “It was a good fight. Piece of cake. I didn’t even hurt the other guy too much.” His fingers rub against the back of Kenma’s hand, and he tries his best to just ignore it. “My fights aren’t always as bad as… as that first time you saw me after one. That’s not like… I don’t usually look that rough after.”

Kenma nods. It’s hard not to worry.

“Tell you what, you want to clean me up?”

He nods, and follows Kuroo into the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

 **kuro**  
u wanna hear a 2 line song that me n bo wrote its dope

 **kenma**  
yes

 **kuro**  
i see you sitting there, mysterious moss clump

 **kuro**  
i turn my valve and give you the boss pump

 **kenma**  
i really think you have a future here

 

* * *

 

Kuroo’s been in a good mood lately. Kenma’s not sure exactly why, or if there’s any reason to it at all, but he seems to be getting more sleep, the dark bags under his eyes fading, his bruised knuckles healing. He has enough energy to practically run circles around Kenma in a park in the nice part of the city, a place near the main hub of Kenma’s campus that he’s deemed safe enough.

Kenma spins around as he tries to keep his eyes on Kuroo, who has his fists by his face and is hopping around him. “C’mon, Kenma! Put ‘em up! Let’s go a few rounds!”

“Kuro, stop,” he says, but he’s smiling, turning back and forth because okay, Kuroo  _ is  _ exceptionally quick and light on his feet. “I don’t know how to fight.”

“I’ll teach you, c’mon, everyone needs to know a little self defense.” He reaches out to bop Kenma on the side of the arm and stops moving around so much, bouncing in place.

Rolling his eyes, Kenma bends his knees, non dominant foot in front, and raises his fists to his temples.

Kuroo nods in approval. “Good, you know how to stand. Now hit me.”

“I’m not going to hit you.”

He scoffs. “If you actually manage to hit me I’ll pay for your lunch. C’mon, swing.”

Kenma rolls his eyes again, but throws a jab with his left fist.

Kuroo leans to the side easily, already talking. “Hey, that was pretty good! Don’t snap your arm all the way out like though, d’you know what I mean? You don’t wanna straighten your elbow all the way. Bad for your bones. Or something. I don’t know, it just hurts after a while.”

“How am I supposed to reach you then, smart guy?”

“Easy.” Kuroo hops forward. “You gotta get in  _ close.” _

Kenma doesn’t get much warning.

Kuroo smirks, and then suddenly he’s diving forward with a yell, shoulder colliding with Kenma’s stomach as both of his arms go around his waist.

“Kuro –!”

He stands in one fluid move, hoisting Kenma onto his shoulder so he’s nearly hanging upside down in the air, fists clenched in the back of his t-shirt and legs kicking wildly.

“Kuro, put me down!” he yells, but he’s laughing.

Kuroo starts spinning, yelling something about, “Fighting is always evolving, Kenma! You never know what your opponent will do! You have to be prepared for anything!”

If Kenma were more athletic, and didn’t think it would break his neck, he’d grab Kuroo around the waist and flip them. But he’s not even sure he has the leverage like this, so he settles for throwing his weight around until Kuroo loses his balance, and they collapse into a laughing mess in the grass.

 

* * *

 

 **kuro**  
wyd

 **kenma**  
watching planet earth on netflix. david attenborough is soothing me to sleep

 **kuro**  
wtf do u speak english??

 **kenma**  
no. but i get the gist of it. and there’s subtitles

 **kenma**  
but it’s probably better if i can’t understand him

 **kuro**  
whys that

 **kenma**  
all these crazy underwater things? no thanks

 **kuro**  
theres a lotta shit in the ocean man

 **kenma**  
i hate the ocean

 **kenma**  
the beach can be okay, but i’d never go out on the open ocean

 **kuro**  
thats how i feel about canada

 **kuro**  
like open canada

 **kuro**  
like when u keep goin north. terrifying

 **kenma**  
haha what??

 **kenma**  
like the tundra?

 **kuro**  
yea man

 **kenma**  
tell me about it when i’m more awake

 **kuro**  
will do

 **kenma**  
goodnight

 **kuro**  
l8r skater

 

* * *

 

After a grueling three hours of catching up on reading and taking notes, Kenma is ready to collapse. Kuroo left two and a half hours ago to run some errands, and since Kenma had his backpack with him and Shouhei was still at school, he decided to take the opportunity to catch up on some work.

As he’s packing up his books and highlighters, he hears the familiar sound of Kuroo jiggling his key in the lock, and a moment later the door swings open, revealing a subdued Shouhei and a weary looking Kuroo.

“Hey,” Kenma croaks. He clears his throat, embarrassed, and tries again. “Welcome home.”

“Hello, Kenma,” Kuroo sighs. Shouhei kicks off his shoes and tries to escape to his bedroom, but Kuroo’s voice stops him momentarily. “Don’t think you’re off the hook, young man. We’ll talk about this after dinner.”

“Okay, tou-san,” Shouhei mutters, and when Kuroo says nothing else he disappears into his room.

Kenma looks up at his friend, waiting for an explanation.

Kuroo collapses on the opposite end of the couch with a sigh, leaning his head back and massaging his eyes. For a moment Kenma thinks he’s being ignored, then Kuroo starts to speak. “Went to pick up Shouhei from school and his teacher tells me he’s trying to be his own little hero. If he sees kids fighting he’ll jump in the middle and try to calm them down and he’s made as many friends as he has enemies, apparently.”

Kenma finishes packing and draws his knees up to his chest, listening intently.

“They were like, ‘Shouhei-kun, why didn’t you tell a teacher like you’re supposed to?’ And he told them, ‘Tou-san says be the change you want to see in the world,’ and I do tell him that, it’s a Ghandi quote, but christ I didn’t mean he should get in the middle of fights.” Kuroo sighs again, slumping further down the couch.

“At least he’s listening to you,” Kenma offers, carefully scooting closer.

“I mean, yeah, and as long as he’s getting in trouble I’m glad it’s for trying to  _ help  _ people, but just… Not what I needed to hear, after the day I’ve fuckin’ had.”

“What else happened?” Kenma prompts.

Kuroo blows out another breath. “Went to the bank. I have this thing where I pay them less money as long as my balance remains over ten thousand yen, and I guess I spent a little too much when I went grocery shopping last week because when I went in to deposit the thirty one thousand from the other day a lady sat me down and I had to talk to her for a while. Got it all sorted. Convinced her not to charge me since I was about to more than make up for it. But it took like an hour and it was a fuckin’ pain.”

Kenma reaches out to wriggle his fingers into Kuroo’s hair, scratching gently. It always relaxes him, and sure enough Kuroo flops over, leaning against Kenma’s chest.

After a moment, Kenma pulls his hand out of his hair to wrap both arms around Kuroo, trying not to squeeze too hard in case of any scattered bruises.

“What is this?” Kuroo mumbles, even though he’s sinking into it. “What are you doing.”

Kenma fights a smile, hiding his mouth in Kuroo’s hair and speaking into the top of his head. “It’s a hug, bitch.” Aside from the first night Kenma was here, Kuroo is always the one holding him. Whether they’re drunk, or tired, or just relaxing, Kuroo is always the one who folds himself around Kenma’s smaller body. It’s just natural.

“Disgusting,” Kuroo mumbles. Kenma frowns and starts to pull away, since Kuroo apparently hates being held so much, but as soon as he starts to move Kuroo’s hands shoot up, holding Kenma’s arms where they wrap around his chest. “Keep doing it,” he mumbles, eyes drifting closed.

He’s hidden above and behind Kuroo’s field of vision, so Kenma smiles wide and unbidden.

 

* * *

 

 **kenma**  
i’m sorry but chris pine really is a snack

 **kenma**  
i believe you once asked me if i thought he was ‘chrisp’

 **kuro**  
hes more flaky and buttery

 **kenma**  
i don’t think he’s either. i think he’s kinda chewy

 **kenma**  
but like in a good way

 **kuro**  
??

 **kenma**  
i don’t know

 **kuro**  
christopher pine is like a hostess snack but a very miscellaneous one

 

* * *

 

Kuroo has gotten into the habit of walking Kenma home from his five pm class. Shouhei is involved in some children’s sports program that Kenma has never bothered asking about, and apparently they conveniently meet just a block away from where Kenma has class, and start just half an hour before he gets out. Kuroo has started to hang around the area before meeting Kenma outside, and walking him the four or five blocks back to his apartment.

Tonight, the fading sun turns the buildings around them pale blue as they walk. Kuroo keeps his strides short to match Kenma’s relaxed pace, and they don’t speak. Kuroo will comment on things he sees happening around them – a stray cat darting between buildings, someone he recognizes driving past – and Kenma will nod, or hum, but that’s it.

It’s nice.

“Do you want to come up?” Kenma asks as they slow to a stop on the stoop in front of his building. He’s fiddling with his key card that will unlock the front door, trying not to gnaw on his lip as he waits for Kuroo’s answer. He doesn’t usually come up, has only been in his apartment once or twice, and when he is he finds a reason to leave after half an hour or so. Kenma tries not to be offended; he knows Kuroo gets stressed in other people’s homes. He explained it was just a weird anxiety thing.

As expected, Kuroo blows out a breath before shaking his head. “Gotta go to the store. Out of apple juice and the cereal Shouhei likes.”

Kenma nods. Shouhei accidentally woke him up when he was getting ready for school this morning, whining about the lack of his cereal. Kenma passed out on the couch doing homework again.

“Okay,” he says agreeably, and Kuroo nods, taking a small step back.

Standing there in the cool evening air, Kenma realizes he’s feeling a little bold tonight. “What, no goodnight kiss?” he calls as Kuroo starts to turn away.

He stops, turns back and raises his eyebrows. “Were you expecting one?” he asks. He sounds amused, which is better than annoyed or uncomfortable.

“I was hoping for one.” Kenma tries not to blush, embarrassed down to the tips of his toes.

But Kuroo just shakes his head with a laugh. “I’m sorry to disappoint, then.”

Kenma pouts. “You should be.”

“Maybe next time, yeah?” Kuroo winks and turns away before Kenma can even process it, and he runs up the stairs with his ears burning like they’re on fire.

 

* * *

 

 **kenma**  
why are there no cats in breath of the wild? i feel robbed

 **kenma**  
there are dogs!

 **kuro**  
like regular ass dogs or hylian hounds

 **kenma**  
just normal dogs

 **kenma**  
they chase their tails and if you feed them fruit they’ll follow you around

 **kuro**  
sound like useless morons

 **kenma**  
well they’ll lead you to treasure sometimes but i want cats! even if you can’t interact with them

 **kuro**  
they should have birds

 **kenma**  
well i’ve got Great news for you

 

* * *

 

Kenma’s drunk, he’s alone, and he’s uncomfortable.

Yachi had too much homework to go out this weekend, reducing his normal pregame trio to just him and Hinata. He wasn’t really too bothered initially, he’s learned enough from her than he can put together a decent enough outfit, and she’d been able to take a break long enough to brush them both with highlighter and some eyeshadow. Really, the only difference he noticed at first is that there was one less body in the Uber.

A second difference, he’d noticed as soon as Hinata ran off with that black haired boy he likes so much, was that was all it took to leave him alone, in a house he’s never been in, full of people he doesn’t know.

Kuroo said he might be here tonight, if Bokuto didn’t come through with anything, but Kuroo’s only reliable about sixty five percent of the time, and that was when he claimed to guarantee something. So really, he has no idea if Kuroo will show up, or if Hinata will come back, and he’s just drunk enough that he doesn’t really know what to do.

Leaning against the wall and scrolling through his phone, he supposes he looks pretty in need of company. One girl comes up to him and says hello, asks if he needs anything, wishes him a good night when he shakes his head. A boy he thinks is in one of classes comes over to say hello and gives him some pocky out of the box he’s munching on. Kenma likes how he can get away with mouthing things at parties simply because people assume they can’t hear him over the noise.

The third person who comes up to him is not so nice.

He’s one of the Rich Kid Foreign Students, all tanned skin and short hair, some kind of European accent clipping all his vowels. He has an impressive grasp on the language, if he’s still speaking it so clearly while very obviously drunk out of his mind.

“You Japanese kids sure are cute,” he grins, leaning over Kenma like school kids used to do in those Vines to embarrass each other. “And short.”

Kenma gives him half a smile in an attempt to be polite before stepping to the side, out of reach.

The kid just follows. “My name’s Anton. I’m from Amsterdam.”

_ Cool, _ Kenma thinks.  _ Bye now. _ He just nods, hoping the kid gets the indication of ‘That’s nice, go away now.’

Once again, he doesn’t. “Japan’s nice, yunno. Thinkin’ about stayin’ here after college.” He leans in again, and his breath stinks like alcohol. “Might need a roommate, though. Whaddaya say? Interested?”

“Doesn’t look like he is,” a smooth voice interjects, and Kenma sags with relief. A familiar arm winds around his waist, the smell of earth and cologne surrounding him. Ignoring the foreign kid, he lowers his face to hover just above Kenma’s. “Sorry I kept you waiting, babe, d’you miss me?”

He sure did.

Kuroo smirks at him, and he’s so close that Kenma could lean up and steal a kiss. It would be easy to play it off as just a way to get the kid to go away, and really, what else could Kuroo expect, standing there grinning with his face only inches away.

“Ah,” Anton says, finally catching a read on the situation. “Sorry. I’ll be… going now.”

“Oh?” Kuroo says, like he’s surprised. “See you later.” He pulls back a bit to look at Anton as he speaks, and Kenma’s chance vanishes with the foreign boy into the crowd.

Still he’s grinning, glad that Kuroo has come to save him, as always.

 

* * *

 

 **kuro**  
ive been thinking

 **kuro**  
who is chewy

 **kenma**  
like chewbacca?

 **kuro**  
no as a quality

 **kenma**  
is this about chris pine

 **kuro**  
affirmative

 **kenma**  
it’s like. idk he just looks chewy

 **kuro**  
parts of him

 **kenma**  
not like in a ‘if i bit this man he’d be chewy’ way

 **kenma**  
but like when you look at a mountain and think ‘sharp’

 **kenma**  
or a stick and you’re like crunchy

 **kenma**  
you look at chris pine and you’re like there’s a guy there’s a man i could really gnaw on for a while

 

* * *

 

“Kenma, Kenma! I want mochi!” Shouhei bounces up and down in front of the freezer, pointing up at it. “And look! We have tea for you! With the bubbles!”

Kenma walks over to where the child is standing in the small kitchen, patting his head as he opens the fridge. Kuroo has indeed bought bubble tea, and there’s a sticky note stuck to the case that reads,  _ for the 2nd best babysitter in the world (Sorry, but Kai still holds #1). _ Kenma cracks a smile.

As he takes one and stabs the straw in, he pretends to consider the freezer as he ignores Shouhei’s puppy eyes. “So,” he hums once he’s taken a few sips of his tea. “You want mochi.”

“Yes, please! Please! Pretty please!”

Kenma taps his chin, opens the freezer and glances around at its contents. “Hmm. I’m not sure there’s mochi in here,” he teases. “Looks like a bunch of frozen vegetables to me. You want some corn? Carrots?”

“No!” Shouhei insists, “Tou-san just bought it! When we bought tea for you! Let me look, tou-san says you’re blind.”

“Oh? What does he say?” Kenma’s hardly interested in why Kuroo was telling his son he’s blind, he’s preoccupied with digging around for the mochi because honestly he wants some too.

But Shouhei isn’t done, apparently. “Well, he said that once, but most of the time he just says, ‘Ohhh, Kenma-chan is so cute!’”

He finds the mochi, tries to stop his heart from beating out of his chest. “No he doesn’t,” he argues, to keep himself from getting his hopes up if nothing else.

“Okay, maybe not exactly, but tou-san has a big crush on Kenma and he thinks I don’t know! He’s not sneaky!”

Kenma tries not to blush as he hands the child his snack. Technically, this isn’t news. Kuroo admitted to his face that he liked him that day Kenma almost kissed him, but it’s something else entirely to hear that he acts in a such a way when Kenma’s not around that even a five year old can pick up on his feelings.

“You wanna know what else he says?” Shouhei asks as he bites into the vanilla treat in his hands.

“No. Tell your dad to keep his mouth shut.”

 

* * *

 

 **kuro**  
mine brain is a napkin

 **kenma**  
and that means?

 **kuro**  
bbbbbbbbblibbliblib

 **kenma**  
mine just feels like gummy worms

 **kuro**  
mmm ooo ouo

 **kenma**  
Bad

 **kuro**  
u ok tho?

 **kenma**  
migraine

 **kuro**  
monkey brain stick stick ooo ohhhh

 **kenma**  
monkey banging said stick against the limp jelly up there

 **kuro**  
jiggle jiggle jigle

 

* * *

 

For the first time in a while, Kenma isn’t drunk on a Friday night. However, Kuroo is.

Or at least, he was past tipsy when he came in a few minutes ago. Kai couldn’t watch Shouhei tonight, but Kenma volunteered to stay in instead. He likes spending time with the kid, and he had work to do. Kuroo could go out without him for once.

Kenma has just packed up his homework and is about fifteen minutes into a movie when Kuroo stumbles in. He trips over his own feet while he's taking off his shoes, and his arm gets stuck in his jacket. Kenma laughs, doesn't offer any help.

“You're a rotten friend,” Kuroo grumbles as he flops onto the couch.

Kenma hums. “No I'm not.”

“No, you're not,” Kuroo relinquishes with a sigh. He's back to his drunk, smiley self in a second. “You're the  _ best  _ friend. You're  _ my  _ best friend. Best of the best of the best.”

He keeps his eyes on the screen and tries to not to show how pleased he is. “Oh? That's nice of you.”

“Just the truth. I always tell you the truth.”

“Thank you.”

“Kenma, I wanna watch what you're watching.”

As Kuroo slumps into his couch, Kenma can't help but laugh. “Okay? This is your house. You're more than welcome to stay.”

“I'm not comfy.”

“Get comfy.”

Kuroo wriggles around for a while, tossing his feet into Kenma's lap, then spinning around to dump them over the arm of the couch, tries tucking them underneath himself and pulling his knees to his chest.

“This is impossible,” he mutters, then suddenly he eyes Kenma like he's sizing him up, and before he can move Kuroo has completely slumped over sideways, burying his face in his thighs and humming contentedly. “Kenma,” he sings quietly, apparently pleased with himself.

Kenma is blushing. “Kuro, get off me,” he mumbles, but his fingers are already working into his hair, tugging gently at the soft tangles.

“Yeah, do that!” Kuroo smiles. He twists around a little bit more. “Rub my head, Kenma!”

“I am.”

“I know. Thanks.” He reaches up and grabs one of Kenma's hands out of his hair, tangling their fingers together and pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. Kenma's  _ really  _ blushing now. “What’re you watching?”

He has to clear his throat twice. “Um, Netflix came out with a live action Fullmetal Alchemist movie.”

“Is it any good?”

“I don't know, Kuro, it just started.”

“Well, I guess we have to just watch the whole thing and find out.” Kuroo's lips brush against his hand with every word, and Kenma resigns himself to falling asleep like this tonight.

 

* * *

 

 **kenma**  
please tell me why toph beifong was the only person in the Entire avatar universe to have a last name

 **kuro**  
aang doesnt need a family name hes a monk

 **kuro**  
other than that fuck

 **kenma**  
okay zuko? katara and sokka?

 **kuro**  
zuko is a prince mayb everybody else named zuko gets knobkarinked

 **kenma**  
they were the royal family they had to have had a family name

 **kenma**  
i guess the southern water tribe was small enough that they didn’t need family names but. northern water tribe?

 **kuro**  
bc the beifongs r rich as fuck

 **kenma**  
okay but so is the FIRE LORD

 **kuro**  
only in FIRE AND LAND

 **kenma**  
that man owns half the world

 **kuro**  
yes?!

 **kenma**  
do you think tanks are cheap?? armies and uniforms and rhino lizards??

 **kenma**  
ozai occupied china

 **kuro**  
CHINA?!! R U FUCKING SERIOUS

 **kenma**  
the earth kingdom whatever

 **kenma**  
it’s BASED ON CHINA

 **kuro**  
based ON

 **kenma**  
YES

 **kenma**  
the fire nation is japan. air nomads are tibetan monks. the water tribes are NATIVE AMERICANS

 **kuro**  
firebending is based on northern shaolin kung fu but ppl cant SHOOT FIRE IN REAL LIFE

 **kuro**  
VIA northern shaolin

 **kenma**  
well you better start practicing harder

 

* * *

 

It’s Saturday night, and Kenma is more than a little bit drunk. They’ve gone through about a quarter handle of vodka between the two of them, and Kenma is considerably more wasted than his taller, denser friend. Nothing is in focus, he’s swaying entirely off beat to the music coming from Kuroo’s phone, and honestly? He’s having a great fucking time.

Shouhei is having a sleepover with a friend, so for once Kuroo doesn’t feel the need to leave to get drunk, since he likes to be somewhat manageable by the time he’s back in front of his kid. They’ve been seated on the couch for about two hours, and Kenma didn’t  _ feel  _ that drunk a little while ago, but then he stood up to grab a hoodie he’d left in Kuroo’s room and it hit him all at once.

“It’s because your blood started circulating again,” Kuroo tells him as he collapses back onto the couch, admittedly much closer than before. He might be half on top of Kuroo, he can’t tell to be completely honest. He doesn’t notice, but Kuroo subtly nudges him off, back onto the couch and a few inches away.

“What if we made out,” Kenma suggests, trying to sound nonchalant.

Kuroo barks out a short laugh. It’s forced, but Kenma can’t tell. “Not a great idea.”

“C’mon. You’re drunk. I’m drunk.”

“You’re way too drunk.”

Kenma waves his hand. “It’ll be fun. I’ve never made out with anyone.” He leans into Kuroo’s space, careful not to let himself get  _ too  _ close. He’s drunk, but that doesn’t mean he wants to just force himself on Kuroo like this. “I’ve never even  _ kissed  _ anyone.”

Kuroo stares into his eyes, his own a little hazy. “Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t exactly make a lot of new friends, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Kuroo glances quickly at his lips before looking away. “I get that. For you.”

Kenma leans forward again, only inches away now, but Kuroo’s hand is on his chest suddenly, pushing him back. “No, Kenma,” he says firmly.

He’s  _ drunk, _ but Kenma registers the serious tone in Kuroo’s voice. He backs up immediately, muttering apologies.

“It’s not –” Kuroo cuts himself off, and Kenma looks up. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” Kuroo admits quietly. “You know I like you. But you know we can’t do this.”

“We  _ can,” _ Kenma insists. “It’s just you. I don’t care about the risks, you’re already with me in public. We can be whatever we want in here. It’s just us.” He finds himself leaning forward again, hands on Kuroo’s shoulders as he stares into his eyes. He looks helpless, hands fluttering around Kenma’s hips like he  _ wants to touch  _ but just  _ won’t. _

“Kenma…” he tries.

“We can be whatever we want,” Kenma insists. In a last ditch effort, he leans in once more, staring into Kuroo’s wide eyes and whispers, “Tetsurou…”

No sooner has the last syllable left his mouth than Kuroo’s lips are on his, moving urgently. His hands grip Kenma’s hips, pulling him forward until he throws one leg over, so his thighs are on either side of Kuroo’s lap, knees digging into the cushions and feet hanging off the end of the couch. Kuroo’s lips are hot on his, soft and wet and almost burning.

Kenma wasn’t lying, obviously, when he said he’d never kissed anyone before. But as far as he can tell, Kuroo is  _ very  _ good at it. His mouth is warm and his lips are mostly smooth, and he tastes like vodka but so does Kenma so who cares, really. Stubble scratches against Kenma’s lower lip and chin, but he doesn’t mind.

Kuroo kisses him breathless for a moment until he figures out how to breathe through his nose, and then he dives in with renewed vigor, pressing as close as he can, wrapping his arms around Kuroo’s neck like a snake in that Planet Earth show he watches. Kuroo’s fingers jerk up under Kenma’s hoodie, blunt nails scraping at the skin of his ribs and spine, and Kenma finds himself arching into it.

Soft hair tickles his fingers, and Kenma raises one hand to rake through the strands at the base of Kuroo’s neck, accidently tugging when his arm spasms. Kuroo hisses into his mouth, kissing him harder and biting softly at his lip. Kenma tries to do it back, but he’s too drunk and inexperienced, and his teeth catch and dig in.

_ “Shit!” _ Kuroo yelps, pulling back suddenly, one hand flying to his lip to check for blood.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, shit –”

“Fuck, Kenma, I said –” Kuroo cuts himself off as he pitches forward again, latching onto Kenma’s neck this time and starting to bite it. Kenma gasps as Kuroo’s teeth scrape over sensitive skin, raising goosebumps and making him shiver. He digs both hands into Kuroo’s hair and tries not to yank it all out of his head. He’s pretty sure Kuroo is sucking a fairly dark mark on his neck, but he doesn’t  _ fucking care,  _ this is what he’s wanted for  _ months  _ now.

Kuroo’s mouth is working over his skin, one hand leaving his back to yank the neck of his hoodie down, exposing his collar bones. Kenma holds his head forward, relishing in the feel of Kuroo’s heartbeat racing against his, of his hair tickling his face, of the hand still on his back scrabbling for a grip.

Kenma gasps as Kuroo leaves another hickey, limbs shaking desperately. It  _ hurts  _ as his skin turns a dark purple, but his whole body is practically rolling in Kuroo’s lap, arching, arching, arching –  _ “Tetsurou,”  _ he gasps again, fingers clenching in his hair.

As quickly as the name seemed to turn him on, it does the opposite just as fast. Kuroo shoots back into the couch, mouth disconnecting with a pop as he pushes Kenma away, holding him at arm’s length by his thin biceps, just barely keeping him from falling off his lap.

“What –” Kenma starts, but he doesn’t know what to ask.  _ What was that for? What happened? What is  _ wrong _ with you? _

Instead he just stares, watches Kuroo’s eyes flick over the two hickies he’s left, Kenma’s rumpled hoodie and swollen lips, heaving chest and trembling hands.

“Shit,” he finally whispers. He pushes Kenma back further until he’s forced to stand on his own two feet to avoid falling on his ass on the floor, then shoots up himself. For a second they just stand, inches apart, like an old western shootout.

Then Kuroo rushes past him, slamming his bedroom door without a word.

Kenma stands alone in the living room, blinking and trying not to tip over. His lips tingle, and he brushes his fingers over them, wondering if he’ll ever get to feel that again.

 

* * *

 

 **kenma**  
good morning

 **kenma**  
hello

 **kenma**  
if this is about last night, you kind of started it

 **kenma**  
kuro cmon it’s been hours

 **kenma**  
okay, i’m sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bravado, lorde  
> [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=im11D4uNfYk) [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/02ZorlDGq0uTnMobHNh4EL?si=pD5h5mD2Sxyg9OHxXwy7DA)
> 
> dangerous night, 30 seconds to mars  
> [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MDGGVTuYsw4) [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/7793p4ZXhtbW5RpeRK7rid?si=Z1uspFn-TmmOFg1It5YT_w)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> f f f FIGHT SCENE i really don't think it's all that graphic but yk. just be careful don't wanna make anyone uncomfy or uncozy. you'll Know when it starts and it ends at the end of the chapter (except there's one last lil out take at the v v end don't miss it)
> 
> there's also a touch of creepy daishou who makes a lotta lewd comments and insinuations about kenma

“Why are you over here so often lately?”

“What, are you getting sick of me, finally?”

Hinata jumps. “Kenma! No! Not at all, I just thought you were spending all your time with Kuroo now.”

Underneath the blanket he’s wrapped in, Kenma cracks his knuckles, an old nervous habit. “I was, but um… Well.” He feels his throat tightening, as it does every time he thinks about what happened last week. “I… We kinda got drunk last Saturday, and you know I like him, and he  _ says _ he likes me too but…”

Hinata looks on, wide eyed but unobtrusive. He knows how to let Kenma gather his thoughts as he tries to vocalize them.

“Well, I was trying to get him to kiss me,  _ just _ once, cuz I’m twenty one and I’ve never been kissed, and… He said, well he  _ said _ he didn’t want to, because he’s still so hung up on  _ protecting _ me, which is dumb, we’re in public  _ all the time _ together, I tried to say it doesn’t  _ matter _ what we do when we’re alone, and –“ Kenma chokes on his own spit for a moment and is forced to stop, then continues in a smaller, calmer voice. “I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden he was kissing me and then I was in his lap and – look.” Kenma pulls down the neck of his hoodie, exposing the two marks that still linger on his neck and chest.

Hinata gasps. “Jesus!”

“Yeah. Yeah, so, that happened, I guess, lasted a couple minutes? I don’t know.”

“So…” Hinata wrings his hands together, “What went wrong?”

Kenma shrugs, helpless. “I don’t  _ know. _ As soon as he started, he just stopped. Pushed me off and locked himself in his room.”

“Did he say anything?”

“I don’t  _ think  _ so.” Kenma shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I was  _ really _ drunk, Shouyou.” He pulls his hands through his hair desperately, trying to remember. “I don't think so,” he finally says again. “I just… stood around for a while, I guess, then I left.”

Hinata starts to open his mouth, Kenma  _ knows  _ it’s to admonish him for going out in the middle of the night, so he cuts him off.

“I called an Uber. Waited inside until it arrived.”

The younger boy huffs. “Fine. Good.”

Kenma fidgets. “But… Since then, he’s kinda been avoiding me. He hardly texts me back, and when he does it’s hours later, and he’s always like, ‘Can’t talk, busy with errands or Shouhei or literally anything else.’” He slumps over himself, miserable. “I’d kind of been too busy with classes for it to  _ really  _ bother me, but now that break just started…”

Hinata shrugs. “Show up at his place.”

“What?”

“Well, he won’t text you, right?” he shrugs again, like this is obvious and casual and not at all destroying Kenma. “And you don’t do phone calls. So what other option is there? If you let him pull away, he’ll do it. This dude sounds like he’s got a lot on his plate, and if you ask me, he could use the help and support.”

Kenma just stares, never having heard Hinata be so… serious.

“Don’t let him get away, y’know? He’s been good for you too.”

He never thought about it that way, but Hinata is right. Between the two of them dragging him to parties all the time, he’s gotten accustomed to being around so many people, has even spoken once or twice in quiet thanks to Uber drivers or fast food employees when he’s drunk enough. He’s waved hello to Akaashi when he sees him on campus, has full conversations with Shouhei, has… well he’s come  _ close  _ to participating in class. Not quite there yet.

But the fact remains that Kuroo has done wonders for his confidence. Without him he’d still only speak to Hinata, maybe occasionally to Yachi.

“Fine,” Kenma concedes, “I’ll talk to him.”

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, he doesn’t have to. Kuroo calls him first.

Seeing his phone ringing brings on a tidal wave of emotions in only a few seconds. Fear, first of all, because phone calls are his worst nightmare, then amusement upon seeing Kuroo’s awful contact picture, then confusion, because Kuroo hasn’t talked to him in almost a week, then back to fear. He’s going to have to answer, whether he’s comfortable with it or not.

Trying not to think, he snatches up the phone and swipes to answer.

The words stick in his throat as he tries to say hello, but after a few seconds of it no longer ringing but not going to voicemail, Kuroo realizes he must have answered.

“Kenma? You there?”

He manages a grunt.

Kuroo exhales, and Kenma closes his eyes, curling his fingers tighter around his phone. It’s nice to hear him again. “I just… You don’t have to talk, I just need you to listen for a little while.”

Kenma grunts again, more of a hum this time.

“Okay… Okay, do you remember what I told you the night we met in CVS? About how a lot of the people I fight are part of gangs? Well I was talkin’ to Bo earlier, and he was like, ‘Listen, I got a good fight for you. A great fight, as long as you win. Gang leader. He’s kind of demanding.’ And I was like okay, yeah, I don’t usually fight  _ leaders,  _ but I guess this is what moving up is, so I was like, ‘Who is it?’ And he was like, ‘What?’ And I was like ‘The gang, Bokuto, who am I fighting?’ And he was like, ‘Uhh, I’ll tell you on Saturday. Are you in?’ So I go, ‘You’re not gonna tell me? That’s fucked up.’”

“Fucked up,” Kenma murmurs in agreement. He’s a little disappointed Kuroo called him to talk about  _ fighting, _ considering the way they left things, but he settles back into his couch to listen. This is Kuroo’s job after all, it takes up most of his time.

“Well, as luck would have it, those guys who attacked you the very first night we met, when I saved you, were part of this one gang who kind of has it out for me. I went to high school with their fuckin leader and the dude has some weird hate boner for me, it’s  _ fucked up, _ I don’t know.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Dude’s name is Daishou.”

Kenma clears his throat. “You’re going to fight him personally?” he asks quietly.

“Well hopefully no, I’m not, but that’s what he wants. Guess I beat up three of his senior guys.”

Picking at fraying threads on the couch, Kenma remembers the way the three of them dropped like rocks. Those were Daishou’s best? “They went down like it was nothing.”

“I think I caught ‘em off guard. I heard they’re normally pretty strong fighters. Daishou’s never fought before, though, as far as anyone knows, so I have literally no idea what to expect from him. He could go down as easy as his guys, or he could completely beat my ass.” Kuroo goes quiet for a minute, Kenma can hear him panting softly, then he grumbles, “That asshole probably fights dirty, come to think of it.”

Kenma takes a few deep breaths, leaving the arm of his couch alone. “Kuro, I think you’ll be fine.”

“Why?”

“You took down three of them with no effort. Caught off guard or not, they completely panicked, and it made them sloppy. If those are three of his best guys, how good can their leader be?”

“Kenma I  _ knew _ this guy. He was this slimy, snakey motherfucker and he  _ always  _ had an angle. And that was just against your average person, when we were like, seventeen. If he’s actively hating me right now, like actually wants to do some damage, you better fucking believe he’s gonna do it.”

“Then don’t do it,” Kenma shrugs.

“Bo says he’s demanding.”

Kenma huffs. “You’re a big boy. If you don't want to do something, don’t fucking do it.”

“Smartass,” Kuroo grumbles.

“You asked,” Kenma huffs back.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. Do you wanna come over? I’m gonna call Bo.”

Kenma’s mouth falls into a small O, and he nods before he remembers Kuroo can’t see him. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, be there soon.”

“Okay. Thank you – Hey, try to be quick, it’ll be dark soon and I don’t want you in this area alone in the dark.”

He tries to ignore the way his heart constricts a little bit. Drunk kisses or no, Kuroo still cares about him. “Yeah.”

“Good. See you soon.”

“See you.”

 

When he gets there, Shouhei opens the door for him. They blink at each other silently for a moment, the moment feeling surprisingly mature given that the child is in his first year of elementary school. Then Shouhei steps aside, holding the door open and pointing to Kuroo’s closed bedroom door. Kenma nods to him as he passes, pauses automatically to make sure the child locks the door behind him again.

Kuroo’s agitated voice bleeds through the thin walls as Kenma approaches, and it sounds strained as he tries to keep the volume low enough not to disturb his son.

_ “Why  _ would you even – No, I don’t  _ care  _ if he came to you, half your fuckin’ job is to keep me  _ out _ of gang… Okay fair. Ah, don’t push it. Yes I  _ do _ –! Bo, I have  _ every right  _ to…”

Kenma pushes the door open, slipping in quietly. He finds Kuroo standing rigidly in front of his window, one hand clutching the pane, head bowed. His head turns slightly at Kenma’s entrance, but he doesn’t acknowledge him further than that.

For a moment he panics, recalling how dismissive Kuroo has been to him for the past week, but he tries to shake it off. He’s not being dismissive. He’s on the phone. He asked Kenma to come over.

Kenma quietly moves over to the mattress he’s grown familiar with, sitting down on the edge and drawing his knees up to his chest. He places his chin on the crown of them and stares at Kuroo’s white knuckles.

From here he can hear Bokuto’s side of the conversation as well.

_ “Kuroo, listen, you’re the best fighter I got!” _

“Okay, thank you, but  _ you  _ are not listening to  _ me _ –”

_ “You’re gonna take down this Nohebi guy no problem –” _

“– I’ve known this guy since high school, he’s a fucking  _ snake  _ –”

_ “– Because that’s what you always do.” _

They’re completely talking over each other, pausing in the middle of their own sentences to listen to a word or two of the other before they’re off again. Personally, Kenma doesn’t think they’re going to get anywhere like this, but he stays quiet and lets them hash it out.

After five minutes, Kuroo finally falls silent, turning down the volume on his phone now that he doesn’t have to try to listen over his own yelling.

Another five straight minutes of Bokuto talking, he turns to Kenma and gives him the most anguished expression he’s ever seen.

Kenma instinctually makes some kind of sympathetic face back at him, a smile breaking through at the sheer over emphasis of Kuroo’s features.

Finally, the room falls silent. “I’m sorry, Bokuto,” Kuroo whispers. “Tell him I won’t do it.”

Bokuto murmurs something back.

“I’m sure. …Yeah. You too.” Kuroo hangs up the phone, pocketing his phone as he hangs his head. Kenma remains quiet, perched on the edge of the bed, though he lowers his legs to place his feet on the floor. He pats the space beside him when Kuroo glances over, and represses a smile as he shuffles toward him like a kicked puppy.

He flops down on the edge of the mattress, and Kenma hesitantly reaches one hand up to scratch at Kuroo’s scalp, since he’s always talking about how that calms him down.

“Thanks, Kenma,” he mumbles, slouching to the side to put his head closer.

“...Yeah.”

They sit like that for almost five minutes, until Kuroo’s back must start to ache, and he scoots away for a moment before lying back down with his head in Kenma’s lap this time. Things feel like they used to, and Kenma closes his own eyes as he slowly moves his fingers over Kuroo’s head.

It’s the weekend, and spring break has started besides, so eventually Kenma lies down next to him, and they both fall asleep.

 

He wakes at six fourteen in the morning.

They’ve gotten comfortable during the night, apparently. Kenma lays with his head on the only pillow, Kuroo’s face hidden in his neck. He has one arm thrown over Kenma’s chest, the other crushed against his own. Kenma’s own arms are wrapped around his shoulders, and he absently lifts one hand to rub at Kuroo’s scalp through his wild bed hair.

The sun hasn’t quite managed to make itself known outside, and Kenma is struck with the sudden intense urge to take a walk. He loves mornings, despite rarely being awake to witness them. Maybe he’ll pick up coffee for them, or a whole breakfast.

But then Kuroo mumbles something and shifts impossibly closer, and Kenma decides to just enjoy this a little longer. If Kuroo wants to act like last weekend didn’t happen, fine. As long as he’s here now, cuddling with him in a way he so desperately loves, Kenma’s happy.

It’s six forty two when Kuroo mumbles the word, “Breakfast,” into his skin. Stubble and lips brush against Kenma’s throat, and it’s all he can do to whisper a response.

“Shokupan toast? Coffee?”

“Mm.”

“I’ll go pick some up.”

Kuroo’s arm tightens around him for just a moment, and he whispers, “Be safe,” before he lets go.

Face burning, Kenma shuffles out of the bed, straightening his clothes as best he can in the tall mirror that leans against the wall. (It’s new, still has the price tag in the corner, he remembers Kuroo boasting about finally being ‘a real adult’ as he proudly propped the thing up in the corner.) He gives his hair a disinterested ruffle before leaving the room, patting his pockets for his wallet and phone.

Shouhei is sitting on the couch when Kenma steps into the living room, small fingers tying up the laces on his shoes with little difficulty. He looks up when he hears the bedroom door close. “Good morning, Kenma,” he says. Despite the age gap – closer to a  _ generation  _ gap – Kenma had insisted weeks ago that he drop the honorific. It made him feel old, and felt weird when the child was so startlingly mature.

“Morning, Shouhei. Getting ready for school?”

The child shakes his head. “Kenma, it’s  _ Sunday. _ But Kai-san takes me to breakfast on Sundays, so I’m waiting for him.”

Kenma winces, but tries to do it dramatically for Shouhei’s entertainment. He’s only been out of school two days and he’s already completely losing track of time. “Of course!” He remembers waking to Shouhei being gone most Sundays, is usually too hungover to really pay it any mind. “When are you leaving?”

“Kai-san likes to sleep in on Sundays a little bit, but he comes over at eight a lot.”

Kenma glances at his phone.  _ 6:47 am. _ “Why are you ready so early, then?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes he’s early. And I like being ready.”

He can’t help but laugh, the boy is so unlike his father, who would most likely stay sprawled in bed all day if no one made him get up. “I’m gonna go pick up some breakfast for me and your dad, okay? Will you let me in when I come back?”

Shouhei nods enthusiastically. “Yeah!”

“I’ll bring you something good, too.”

“Okay!”

Kenma smiles, stepping into his shoes and grabbing one of Kuroo’s hoodies before closing the door behind him, habitually pausing to listen for the click that means Shouhei has locked it again.

Then he’s off.

It’s colder outside than he thought it would be, and Kenma pulls his hood up as he jogs down the stairs, kind of liking the sting of cool air against the exposed skin of his face and legs. His hair keeps falling out from behind his ears, making it look like things are moving in his edges of vision.

Beyond the office building, the clouds bleed vermilion and fuschia, black bird silhouettes cutting across it every now and then. Sunrise can make even an area like this seem beautiful, Kenma thinks as he deftly side steps a few torn up bags of garbage.

He makes it to the local cafe, quiet this early on a Sunday, smiles and hardly stutters at the tired girl behind the counter. He ties his hair up while he waits, annoyed by his ever-shifting peripheral.

The barista hands him the bag – shokupan toast, apple cinnamon muffin – and a cardboard drink tray – black coffee for Kuroo, two creams and two sugars for him – and he nods in thanks. Normally by now he’d mutter a thank you, maybe smile, but he’s distracted.

Maybe that wasn’t his hair shifting in his peripheral.

There are two men loitering outside the cafe, tattoos peeking out of the sleeves and necklines of their jackets. They wear green and black leather, sunglasses despite the weak morning sun. Kenma shudders, keeps his head down, quickens his steps. As he turns away from them, toward Kuroo’s building, they push off off the wall, trailing behind him.

Kenma struggles to keep his breathing even, trying not to notice that they match their paces to his, no matter what speed he's going.

Kuroo’s apartment building comes into view, and Kenma is almost relieved, until three more figures round the wall in front of it, ambling towards him.

He’s trapped.

He tries to breathe, tries to think rationally. Technically, he doesn’t  _ know  _ that they’re coming for him. It could be a weird coincidence, he is in a bad part of town after all, gangs are always roaming these streets. He’s just transgressed on their meeting place, on their terf, whatever, as long as he makes it close enough to the building he’ll be –

He has to side step to avoid walking headfirst into the man approaching him. Anxiety has closed his throat, but he mouths the word sorry and tries to walk away, getting no further than a step before a hand clamps on his arm. He gasps, and then there’s a greasy face smiling in his.

“Hey there, little kitten,” the man hisses. “How about you come with us?”

 

* * *

 

Here's what he knows:

The chair he's sitting in is made of wood. It feels unpainted but smooth, plain craftsmanship. No splinters dig into his back or legs.

The room the chair is in is cold. Goosebumps prickle along his skin, the hair on his arms standing at attention from both the temperature and the fear. Every sound he makes echoes slowly due to how far away the walls are.

The building the room is in is large. He was lead a long way to get here, down hallways, up some stairs, more hallways, back down the stairs, down more hallways, and finally into this room.

And he did it all blindfolded.

Kenma hisses as the rope around his wrists shifts when he does, digging into the quickly chafing skin. It burns to the point of numbness by now, the skin of his ankles not faring much better. His wrists are bound behind him, tied together before being bound to the bar digging into his spine. Each ankle is attached to a front leg of the chair, leaving his legs uncomfortably open. As if that’s not enough, rope is wrapped around his stomach, just to hold him in place. Tears of pain and fear saturate his blindfold.

“Stay still,” the guard next to him drones. He doesn’t sound particularly interested in what happens, but Kenma freezes nonetheless, unaware that he wasn’t alone. He would try begging, if his throat wasn’t closed with panic, and the man didn’t sound so apathetic.

Hiccups rise in his chest, painful and choking. Swallowing them causes air to gather in his stomach, and Kenma nearly cries out of frustration.

He’s here because of Kuroo.

There’s no doubt in his mind that this is all a horrible manifestation of Kuroo’s fears: Someone else he couldn’t protect, taken away from him just when things were starting to look okay. He’d seen enough of the men who cornered him: dressed in green, slicked back hair… These are the snakes Kuroo was so desperately trying to avoid.

It’s not that Kenma blames him, at all.

(Okay, technically this is completely his  _ fault, _ but he feels like acknowledging that is different from assigning blame.)

Kenma shocks upright when a door across the room opens. The guard beside him shifts, says in a bland voice tinged with respect, “Sir.”

_ Daishou. _

Footsteps echo across the floors, slow and precise. He hears more than one set, but can’t determine exactly how many. His chest is starting to close like his throat.

“This is him?” Daishou asks a few moments after the footsteps stop. His voice his oily, and his S’s aren’t exactly prolonged, rather they hiss out of his mouth quicker than the other syllables.

“Yes sir,” the guard says.

Daishou hums, and suddenly there is heat in front of Kenma, fingers on his chin. He jerks to the right instinctively, away from the touch, only to run right into Daishou’s other hand. “Ah ah,” he tuts. With Kenma’s face held securely between his hands, he turns him from side to side, inspecting him like a piece of meat. “Kuro has good taste.”

Kenma’s lips twitch with the urge to bare his teeth, because what the  _ fuck?! _

“Hmm. You look like  _ fun,” _ Daishou hisses. Panic shoots through him for a second, but then his presence disappears from Kenma’s immediate vicinity. “Did you give him the location?” he asks somewhere off to the side.

“He’s still refusing.”

“What? Did you tell him  _ who we have?” _ Silence. “You’re all  _ fucking incompetent. _ Send him a fucking video or something, Jesus Christ, I don’t have all goddamn day.” His footsteps start to echo back the way he came, drowned out momentarily by his shout of, “I want him outside and ready to go  _ tonight,  _ or I’ll have all of your hands mounted in my office, understood?!”

 

* * *

 

The next time Kenma opens his eyes, he’s immediately blinded.

White lights fill his vision, and the harshness combined with the stress makes him retch for a few seconds. He gets it under control, blinks until he’s able to see around the spots in his vision, and lifts his head.

He’s still strapped to the chair. Nothing has changed about that, but he’s in completely different area. Above him, past the lights, a few stars shine weakly past the light pollution in the deep blue-green of the Tokyo night sky. On either side of him, buildings rise up; old warehouses somewhere between carelessly maintained and completely abandoned. The pavement under his feet his wet, and Kenma shivers against the cold air that brushes over his legs and face. He’s still wearing Kuroo’s hoodie, at least, the looseness of it shrouding him comfortingly. Snakes surround him on all sides, green leather and black sunglasses and slicked back hair.

_ “Kenma!” _

His head whips up at the cry, eyes immediately locking on burning gold further down the alley. He opens his mouth to shout back in return, but of course nothing more comes out than a strangled exhale. There’s a ring of spectators around them, but Kenma pays them no mind.

“I have to say, Kuro,” Daishou croons from somewhere behind him, approaching slowly. Kenma flinches away from the sound. His heart is in his throat, but he wouldn’t be able to yell anyway. “You found yourself a good one,” Daishou continues. “Quiet.” He comes to a stop behind Kenma, hands sliding over Kenma’s shoulders, lips coming to brush against his ear when he hisses, “He doesn’t  _ scream.” _

Kenma’s whole body shudders at the feeling, and he stubbornly turns his head away. Kuroo’s lips are always warm they touch him, chapped and scabbed but wonderfully delicate. Daishou’s breath is too hot, his lips clammy and uncomfortable.

“Don’t touch him,” Kuroo growls. He looks like he did the night they met: radiating anger and determination, only know there’s a touch of something else. Jealousy? Possessiveness? Kenma doesn’t care  _ what  _ it is, as long as it gets him rescued.

Daishou hums a laugh, slipping his hands forward and down Kenma’s chest and stomach. Kenma bucks as much as he can when he’s tied in place, trying desperately to dislodge him. Kuroo lets out something between a growl and a yell, lurching forward with his fist raised. It’s taped up, Kenma notices. He’s here to fight.

Two of Daishou’s men step in front of Kuroo before he can advance any further, firmly holding him back. “No further please, sir,” one of them mutters.

“Daishou, you slimy bastard, get the fuck over here!”

“Now now, Kitty,” Daishou hums, standing up slowly and dragging his hands over Kenma's chest again as he does, “We haven't discussed the  _ terms _ yet.”

Kuroo finally steps back from the two men, crossing his arms over his chest as his gaze flicks between Kenma and Daishou. “What do you want. What.”

Daishou just laughs. “Oh, honey, the question is what do  _ you  _ want? Wait! Don't answer. I have it right here.” He leans down again to murmur the last part in Kenma’s ear, then delivers a quick bite to the top of the cartilage. It’s all teeth and tongue and he kind of  _ sucked on it,  _ God. Kenma yelps, jerking away.

Kuroo snaps his teeth.

“If you win,” Daishou begins loftily, backing away, “I'll let him go. You can have him back and be on your way.”

_ “When _ I win.”

“Sure, whatever. When  _ I  _ win…” Abruptly, Daishou knocks Kenma's chair onto its back legs, spinning him around so his back is to Kuroo. Before Kenma can even open his mouth to scream, Daishou slides into his lap with a roll, arms hanging over his shoulders as he bites at Kenma's other ear. His skin crawls where Daishou touches him, and Kenma almost starts to retch again.  _ “He's mine,”  _ Daishou hisses.

Kuroo roars.

 

Kenma has never seen a street fight before. He's never really seen any kind of fight, except for the night Kuroo saved him, and just knocked down three guys. This is different. The closest thing he can think to compare it to is a dance.

Kuroo fights like it was all he was born to do. His Nikes seem to hover centimeters above the asphalt as he glides in circles around Daishou. The light around him reflects in the puddles, on his shorts and tank top and hair, haloing him in white and red. He keeps his hands up, circling the ring like a cat.

To his credit, Daishou appears to be a better fighter than his men. He doesn't land any punches, at first, but he doesn't let Kuroo land any either, jerking away from his jabs and remaining coiled, for a moment, before striking out in return.

They do this back and forth for a minute, dodging and dipping, before Daishou grows impatient. He doesn't yell, but dives forward with a hiss, aiming a direct jab at Kuroo’s face with his left fist. Kuroo dives to the right to dodge it, only to be met with Daishou’s right hook to his midsection, the way he'd intended. The crowd around them gasps. Kenma bites his lip so hard he tastes blood.

But he recovers lightning fast, and where Daishou’s arm is still coming down, Kuroo delivers two quick jabs to his ribs, leaving the other man stumbling back.

There's a cheer, and Kenma glances to the left to see Bokuto among the onlookers. The familiar face is reassuring. No matter what happens now, Kenma believes in Kuroo. Now that he's here, Kenma knows there's no way Kuroo will leave without him.

It goes on like this. Daishou swings a lot less than he dodges, and even less of his hits actually land. Kuroo dances tirelessly around him, waiting and swinging and blocking, never dodging. Kenma feels tired just looking at them, but the sweat on Daishou’s brow is the only indication that the two of them feel any of this at all. The guards at Kenma’s sides shift as though bored.

The next time Daishou leaves an opening for an attack, Kuroo gets in fast, hitting him twice in the stomach and once in the jaw.

Daishou stumbles back, glaring. His right hand is clenched around something, bruised jaw clutched in his left. A smirk over takes his face as Kuroo flutters on the edge of the ring, and Kenma tenses.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” he hisses.

Something is spinning in his right hand, glinting green and purple and silver.

Kuroo takes a step forward, and Daishou lunges.

 

There's a lot of blood. That's the first thing Kenma notices when Kuroo staggers backward, one hand covering his side. It runs in little fault lines down his fingers and wrist, dripping on the pavement and his shoes. Kuroo stares down at his hand, wide eyed, before slowly lifting his gaze to a grinning Daishou.

“Bastard,” he growls. In the wake of Daishou's pride, he manages several hard hits to his chest and one more aimed at his jaw, though Daishou ducks wrong at the last second and Kuroo hits him in the eye.

They move differently now. Kuroo is on the defensive, his movements slightly pained, and slower. When he blocks he winces, like he's afraid of the blade cutting into his skin again. Daishou is merciless, taking every opportunity he sees, focusing all his attention on where he'd stabbed Kuroo.

But Kuroo holds strong. When he can’t block, he dodges, a full body side step to avoid twisting his torso and aggravating the wound. His punches are precise and powerful, clearly weakening Daishou with every blow that lands.

Kenma sees when it’s about to happen again.

Kuroo’s black tank top is soaked with blood, his left hand bobbing away from his face as though he wants desperately to clutch at the wound. As he and Daishou stand across the circle from each other, panting and sweating, Kenma sees the same metallic flash in Daishou’s hand. Kenma wishes he could yell in warning, or that anyone else spectating would. Surely  _ knives  _ are not allowed in street fights unless it’s very clearly a knife fight.

But Kuroo doesn’t see it, and his only warning is the way Daishou tenses before he springs, a cobro delivering his final blow.

The blade connects with his right arm, this time.

It’s more of a slash than a stab, but the wound gushes red and angry instantly, Daishou cackling as he dances back. Kenma wants to cry out when Kuroo does, drawing his arm back on instinct. But instead of cradling his arm or paying attention to the cut, he immediately throws his fist back out, connecting with Daishou’s jaw so hard his knuckles scrape across his teeth, the tape there tearing as it gives way to blood.

Daishou sways on his feet once before falling to the ground, unconscious.

For just a second, everything is as quiet as Kenma. Kuroo stands at the center of the ring on shaking legs, fists clenched by his face, blood covering his right arm and most of his stomach. When Daishou doesn’t move, Kuroo finally lets his hands drop, staggering back a step as he lets his head slump back on his neck, mouth dropping open so he can breathe easier.

When it’s clear that Daishou will stay down, Bokuto rushes into the circle and grabs Kuroo’s uninjured wrist, throwing it in the air with a whoop. The crowd cheers, and half a smile ghosts over Kuroo’s lips as he raises his right hand as much as he can, only succeeding in getting it as high as the wound on his stomach, which he presses his palm to.

His head turns sluggishly to the side, eyes burning gold for a the few seconds it takes him to breathe,  _ “Kenma.” _

Then he collapses as well.

 

* * *

 

Kai stares down at the empty Oreo container in his hands, then at Shouhei’s innocent face, mouth surrounded by crumbs and cream. He has no idea how many were in here to begin with, but there is no small amount of remnants on Shouhei’s face.

“How many did you eat, roughly?” he asks, lowering the container to the table.

Shouhei blinks at him, wide eyed and sweet, and promises, “I ate them gentle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> power, bastille  
> [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_WbHVf039I) [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/7mq92gCVqxaZQuzE6h9ZBp?si=44HwSEq8QxuZY3vACJuzTg)
> 
> hail to the victor, 30 seconds to mars  
> [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgOd26uJLQs) [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/64gbzSMPloO2SNBTk3PG3h?si=YVrdDzJdT-ysWL0v9AFvkw)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY haha sorry for the wait i forgot about the construct of time my b
> 
> anyway this is where those sex tags finally come in. uhh i've never given or received a blow job so. i don't know how. accurate it is. if anyone would like to correct me, Don't

Bokuto’s apartment is closest to the alleyway, so that’s where they take Kuroo.

After Kenma had been cut free and Daishou had been hauled off by his men, Bokuto and Kenma had managed to lift the semi-conscious Kuroo between them and help him stumble to Bokuto’s car. They’d laid him out in the backseat, head in Kenma’s lap and a towel pressed to the cut on his stomach. Bokuto doesn’t try to talk to him during the short trip, which is out of character for him, according to what Kenma knows about the man. But he’s thankful.

When they finally prop Kuroo up on the floor against the bathroom wall, Bokuto is all business.

He starts by peeling Kuroo’s shirt off and throwing it in the sink so he can inspect the wound on his stomach.

“It’s shallow,” he announces, voice more serious than Kenma’s ever heard it. “I can stitch it. He’s lucky.”

Kenma’s hands are shaking, but he finds a washcloth to wet and hand to Bokuto.

“Thank you.”

He feels like crying.

Kuroo is well and truly unconscious now, and Bokuto must notice how close he is to coming apart at the seams because he says, “Listen, I can clean him up, all right? You can uh, make yourself at home.”

Kenma nods his thanks, and leaves the bathroom.

He doesn’t have the energy to explore Bokuto’s apartment. He’s reminded as he steps into the kitchen that he hasn’t eaten since… what, dinner yesterday? Before Kuroo called? The clock on the stove says it’s one in the morning. He can’t bring himself to feel bad as he raids Bokuto’s fridge and cabinets.

When his stomach is full, there’s nothing left for him to do but sleep. He doesn’t bother guessing at which hallway door leads to the bedroom, and isn’t willing to stumble upon an Akaashi shaped lump either, so Kenma stretches out on the couch and tries to let himself drift off.

Every time sleep starts to come, he sees men in green leather approaching him. He sees Daishou touching him, sees a knife in Kuroo’s side, sees him lying limp on the asphalt. It’s too much.

Bokuto had snatched his phone and wallet back from the snake who held them out as they were leaving, but Kenma hasn’t turned it on since it was handed back to him. The battery is running low, but Kenma loses himself in meaningless games until Bokuto emerges from the bathroom.

“Help me with him,” he says. “You guys can sleep here.”

 

* * *

 

There is not an Akaashi shaped lump in Bokuto’s bed. There are hardly any lumps at all, actually, and Kenma wonders if the man has another job, or if being the manager of a bunch of street fighters actually pays enough for him live so lavishly. He doesn’t dwell on it.

Kenma trusts Bokuto, if the last few hours are anything to go by, but the second he’s gone he can’t help but inspect Kuroo.

With all the blood and sweat wiped away, what’s left is still not pretty. Kuroo’s face is a patchwork of mottled red and purple, dusted over an underlying coat of healing green and yellow. There are sunken bags beneath his eyes, splits in his lip, bandages holding a reopened split above his eyebrow closed. The cut on his arm has been wrapped, as with the one on his stomach. Bruises extend outward from both bandages, which Kenma assumes will get worse before they get better. The knuckles of his right hand are wrapped similarly to how they usually are  _ before  _ a fight, but these are bandages, not an alignment wrapping.

A sob finally chokes out of Kenma’s throat as he runs his fingers feather light over Kuroo’s jaw.

“I love you,” he gasps, the first words he's spoken since he left Kuroo this morning, “I love you, I’m sorry, I love you.” He sounds almost desperate, like saying it enough times will force Kuroo awake, if only to explain again all the stupid reasons they can’t be together.

But it doesn’t. Kuroo sleeps through the night.

Hours later, when the sun starts to rise, Kuroo begins to shift in his sleep. Kenma ignores it at first, because he’s  _ finally  _ dozing off undisturbed, and Kuroo has been moving just slightly all night, but this is more deliberate, the movements growing each time. He shoots up when the mumbling starts.

“Nn, don’t touch ‘im. D’shou. S… Stop… Don’t – Nngh! Kenma!” Kuroo’s eyes snap open, wet with tears. They dart around wildly for a few seconds before locking on Kenma’s face, hovering above him.

Kenma nearly sobs with relief, mouth open to reply, to reassure him, anything. But then Kuroo’s uninjured hand is on the back of his neck, pulling him down and crushing their lips together, and every thought in Kenma’s mind melts away.

Kuroo tastes like iron and antiseptic, like salt where their tears are mixing on his cheeks, but Kenma doesn’t care. He doesn’t  _ care, _ because Kuroo is finally awake and happy beside him, kissing him when they’re sober and this is all Kenma has ever wanted.

When they pull apart, Kuroo’s eyes are burning again. “Are you okay?” he asks with as much intensity as his body can muster. “He didn’t hurt you? Did he –?” It’s  _ scary, _ how quickly Kuroo’s fire eyes go dark when he growls, “Did he touch you at all? I’ll kill him.”

“I’m fine,” Kenma hastens to reassure him, patting his cheeks and brushing his thumbs over his lips. “I promise, I’m completely fine, he didn’t touch me. Nobody did that you didn’t see.”

Kuroo’s eyes gaze across his face in a way that Kenma is too afraid to call  _ reverence. _ Then Kuroo pulls him back down for a second kiss, then a third, then he just rests their foreheads together. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking around the whispered words. “I’m sorry, baby, this was all my fault.”

The nickname makes something warm gather in his chest, but Kenma pushes it down to reply. “I’ll call it even if you buy me dinner,” he murmurs, and he’d be happy if every word he ever spoke from now on was whispered against Kuroo’s lips.

 

* * *

 

Bokuto drives them home as the sun is rising. He and Kuroo keep glaring at each other in the rearview mirror, since this is the situation Bokuto was supposed to help him avoid, but the outcome only proved that Kuroo had nothing to worry about in the first place. Kenma has to remind himself that to them, despite the heightened stakes, this was just another fight.

The two share one last intense look as Kenma helps him out of the car, but just before Bokuto drives off he grasps Kuroo’s forearm and says, “Proud of you.”

It’s a moment before Kuroo grips him back. “Thank you for all your help.”

Kenma drags him away from the weird tension.

Upstairs, neither of Kuroo’s hands can’t stop shaking or grip his key tight enough to unlock the door, so Kenma gently takes it from him to let them in. The door swings open to reveal Kai, asleep on the couch, as Shouhei quietly eats cereal.

The boy grins widely when he sees his father, doesn’t comment on the state of his face. The rest of the bandages are hidden beneath a black hoodie, and Kenma wonders if Shouhei has learned to be gentle when hugging Kuroo or if he’s naturally like that. They don’t speak, but Kuroo kneels down to give his son a proper hug, pressing his lips to his hair as he closes his eyes and breathes out. Then he retreats to his bedroom, and Kenma stops to pat the child’s head before following.

As Kenma closes the door behind him, Kuroo collapses on his back on his mattress. “God,” he mumbles, “What a fucking trip.”

Kenma doesn’t really know what to do, now that he’s here. He knows what he  _ wants  _ to do, but he’s not quite sure how to get there. He starts by moving closer. “How’s your stomach?”

Kuroo sighs, and for a second Kenma thinks he’s not going to answer. Then he says, “It’s not bad. Didn’t hit any organs or anything. If I’d moved just a little to the side he wouldn’t have hit me at all.”

He’s blaming himself again. “You’re not perfect,” Kenma reminds him as he perches on the edge of the mattress.

“You are,” Kuroo breathes as he stares up at him, eyes shining,  _ “God,  _ you are.”

Kenma leans down and kisses him.

Kuroo is slow, pliant against him and he doesn't seem to mind that Kenma is still not very good at this. They move gently together until Kenma's neck starts to ache from sitting above him. He's about to pull back and say something, when Kuroo's arms wrap around his waist. With one tug he pulls Kenma entirely over him so he lands on the far side of the mattress, rolling to hover above him in the same movement.

When the dust settles, they stare at each other, expressions wiped carefully blank.

As Kenma watches, something akin to heartbreak begins to splinter across Kuroo's face. “I'm sorry,” he whispers, “So sorry about all the… All that time I wasted.”

Kenma can't take the look on his face, glances to the side only to immediately feel Kuroo’s fingers under his chin. His gaze is directed back to smoldering gold eyes, half lidded as always and filled with love.

“I adore you, Kenma.” He ducks his head to place it against Kenma's shoulder, breath tickling under the collar of his shirt for a moment before he twists, pressing his lips softly against Kenma's neck, at the soft spot below his ear.

Kenma draws in a breath, hands gripping the sheets.

“You know that, don't you?”

He stutters as Kuroo starts to suck gently on the spot, though he stops after a moment to press more kisses to the surrounding area. “I – I – Yes,” he gasps quietly.

Kuroo searches his eyes, one hand tangled in soft blond hair.

“Good,” he murmurs.

Without waiting for a response, Kuroo ducks his head again, kissing a slow line down Kenma's neck, pausing to nibble at his pulse, at the straining tendon beside the hollow of his throat. The hand in Kenma's hair shifts as Kuroo places his weight on that arm, lowering the other to creep along the edges of his shirt. It dips under just enough to tease, to trace the soft bump of his hip before it's gone again. Kenma strains to hold in a whine of complaint. When Kuroo's lips reach the top of his shirt, he finally shows mercy.

His hand skates up Kenma's side, dragging goosebumps and fabric up with it until it bunches at his armpits. Kenma sits up just enough to let Kuroo pull it over his head before flopping back down, bones feeling like jelly in the wake of Kuroo's touch.

Fabric gone, Kuroo's hand and lips roam free. His hand eventually settles at Kenma's side, caressing the skin there with barely there pressure, making Kenma shake beneath him. No one's ever touched him like this before, and it's almost overwhelming. Kuroo kisses a line down his sternum, pecking his way to the right, to the crest of his ribs. It can't be easy with Kenma gasping for breath, absolutely overwhelmed by the attention, but Kuroo gently presses open mouthed kisses across the expanse of his chest, murmuring sweet nothings in between.

“Kuro,” Kenma whimpers. He clears his throat, embarrassed, and tries again. “What about Shouhei.”

Kuroo sits up from where he's sucking a soft mark on Kenma's ribs. “Kai’s taking him to school, as I am so  _ horribly _ wounded.” A smirk over takes his face and he starts to move back. “Unless you think I’m okay? Should I tell Kai I can –?”

“No!” Kenma's hands fly up to fist in the back of his hoodie. “Stay with me,” he murmurs as Kuroo descends again, capturing his top lip between his own.

“Always, Kenma.”

Kuroo pulls his head back enough to stare, absolutely burning now, and that's all it takes. Kenma reaches down to grab as close to the edge of kuroo's hoodie as he can, yanking it up until Kuroo sits up to remove it, along with his shirt, in one fluid tug. It fucks up his hair even more, but within a second Kenma's fingers are in it, twisting and tugging until their lips crash together again.

“Baby, slow down, slow down, no rush,” Kuroo whispers, grabbing at Kenma's wrists. “No rush.” He tries to kiss him slow, deep like he  _ means  _ it, but Kenma isn't having it. He pushes upward until Kuroo is forced to move sideways to avoid sitting up, and then Kenma rolls on top of him. Straddling Kuroo's hips, he dips to bite into his neck, arching with Kuroo as he gasps. Kenma has no experience in what he's doing, but between instinct and all of Shouyou’s action movies that have at  _ least _ one sex scene, he has an idea of what to do.

Kuroo's hands grab at his waist, desperate to hold without crushing. Gone is the soft, tickling touch from earlier; Kenma is shaking entirely different now.

Satisfied with the dark mark blooming beneath Kuroo’s skin, Kenma begins moving down, kissing Kuroo’s chest as he'd done. He carefully avoids the bandage, as well as the bruises around it, and after a few more minutes he has to sit up because he's  _ sucking  _ on Kuroo's  _ abs,  _ who has be become?

Kuroo is rolling beneath him, head thrown back just from this, and Kenma realizes hey, it's probably been quite a while since he's had this kind of attention.

But this as far as Kenma has any kind of familiarity with.

“Hey, um, I don't really know what I'm doing,” he admits, embarrassed. God. Twenty one years old, never even been kissed.

Kuroo doesn't seem to care. He rolls them over again – Kenma isn't sure if he knows this, but he feels safer with Kuroo above and all around him like this – and whispers in his ear, “Follow my lead, yeah?”

He’ll see if he can manage even that.

Kuroo rolls his hips down into Kenma’s, eliciting a gasp that he swallows immediately with a kiss. As Kenma’s back arches, Kuroo slips one arm beneath him, grabbing his ass and holding them flush together as they undulate. Kenma can feel himself growing hard between them, and he’s not gonna lie it’s a little bit scary, but God this  _ Kuroo, _ and he needs to be as close as possible as soon as possible.

As Kuroo sucks another mark on his neck, he sets Kenma back down on the bed, reaching between them to grip at his half hard erection. Kenma stifles his moan against his wrist, wanting to spare poor Shouhei and Kai out in the living room. Kuroo smirks at him, but whispers, “They should be gone soon.”

‘Soon’ better be within the next five fucking seconds, because now Kuroo’s palm is rubbing on his dick, much more direct pressure and five seconds is about all Kenma has before he loses his shit.

Kuroo kisses down his chest again, nibbling at his ribs, at his hips, as he slowly lifts one of Kenma’s legs, placing it on his shoulder. He’s the one setting the pace now and he knows it, and that means he’s going to savor every second. Which means, apparently, that he’s going to torture him.

Warm lips close around the skin of his thigh, biting gently before starting to suck. All of the air hisses out of Kenma’s lungs at once as he tries to bite back anything louder. Kuroo is slow and thorough, waiting until Kenma is positively writhing beneath him before he switches to suddenly mouthing at his cock through his shorts.

This time, Kenma practically does scream.

Kuroo smirks, hooks two fingers under Kenma’s waistband and tugs. His erection bobs above his stomach and Kuroo doesn’t waste a second before he dives forward to take the tip of it in his mouth. Kenma bites harshly into his wrist as Kuroo swirls his tongue around the head, enveloping him in the soft, wet heat of his mouth. When he’s done licking at the head, Kuroo presses his tongue to the underside and sinks down, glancing up at Kenma through his eyelashes.

It’s almost too much. Kenma’s hips buck and he twists his whole body around, shoulders pressing into the mattress while his hips fight to rise into the air, into Kuroo’s mouth. But his hands hold him firm to the bed, and Kenma is stuck with his spine in the air like an exorcism as he tries to force air into his suddenly useless lungs.

He knows for a fact Kuroo would be laughing at him if he didn’t currently have a dick in his throat.

“Kuro, stop,” Kenma gasps, hands flying down to fist into Kuroo’s hair as he starts to move. “Holy shit, stop, please, or I’m gonna come.”

Kuroo pulls off with a lewd sound, lips immediately finding the skin of his thigh again. He whispers, “Sure that isn’t what you want?” He doesn’t give Kenma a chance to try to work out a response before he continues. “I know you’ve never done anything like this. We don’t have to rush right into it.”

“I – I don’t…”

“Let me do this for you, baby,” Kuroo murmurs, warm lips and  _ tongue  _ brushing against Kenma’s sensitive skin.

“O – Okay,” Kenma stutters out. He doubts he could say no to anything Kuroo suggests right now.

Kuroo hums, and instead of immediately resuming, he presses a few more kisses to Kenma’s thighs, working his way around until Kenma is whining and tugging on his hair again because oh my god he needs  _ something, anything  _ right now, before he dies. Finally, Kuroo’s lips find his dick again, and he glides his tongue up the underside before sinking back down. Kenma gasps, but he’s ready for it this time.

Ready or not, his stamina leaves something to be desired. Sure he has a little more self control than a teenager, but he’s literally never done something sexual with another person ever, and his hand can’t even begin to compare to the wet heat that is Kuroo’s mouth. After only a few minutes of Kuroo bobbing up and down and Kenma’s quiet cries filling the air, he starts to lose control of his hips again.

Kuroo takes it in stride. He lets Kenma hold tight to his uninjured hand and basically fuck his mouth, keeping one hand on his hip to keep him in check.

Kenma bites into his free hand as he comes, eyes squeezing shut so hard he sees stars.

When he opens them again, Kuroo is grinning at him from between his legs, wiping the corner of his mouth on the back of his hand and it occurs to Kenma that he just  _ swallowed  _ that.

“Gross,” he mutters out loud.

Kuroo just laughs. “That’s all you have to say?”

Kenma lets his head fall back on the pillow. “Haven’t you heard? I’m mute. You should be glad I say anything to you at all.”

“Really? You don’t sound very mute to me.”

“Shut up.” Kenma sits up and eyes the very conspicuous bulge in Kuroo’s pants. “Do you… want some help with that?”

“Only if you feel comfortable doing so.”

“God, was that supposed to be dirty talk?” Kenma huffs, already reaching for it, “That was terrible.”

But Kuroo’s hands grab his wrists, stopping him. “Wasn’t dirty talk,” he says, voice low. He angles his head until he can look Kenma in the eyes. “I’m being serious, here. Don’t feel obligated to do anything.”

Kenma swallows. Trust Kuroo to get serious in the middle of sex. “I’ll just… Do what I can.”

All relaxed and in his element, Kuroo lets go and leans back on his bed, hands locked behind his head. “C’mere,” he murmurs with a beckon of his head, and Kenma cautiously throws one leg over Kuroo’s hips so he’s sitting on him.

He leans in, only to jerk back in surprise when Kuroo leans in as well and bites at his neck. “No pressure,” Kuroo laughs as Kenma pulls a face and wipes at the wet spot Kuroo has left on his skin, and just like that the thick tension in the air clears like fog. This is  _ Kuroo, _ the dorky guy who texts him about Chris Pine and obscure Avatar details, who tells him he’s afraid of the open tundras of Canada, who just wants his head rubbed when he comes home drunk. Kuroo’s just as big of an idiot as he is, and there’s nothing to be worried about here.

“Tetsurou,” he whispers.

Kuroo’s hands come up to cradle his face. “That’s me, baby.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“And I –”

“Listen, Kenma,” Kuroo cuts him off, a slightly pained expression on his face, “I love you a lot, you love me a lot, I’m sorry but there will be plenty of time for speeches later. Right now you are very naked and my dick is  _ really  _ hard, and you’re sitting on it, and I’d like one of us to take care of it as soon as possible, please.”

Kenma huffs. “I take it back, you’re mediocre at best –”

“Kenma,  _ please.” _

“Go suck your own dick, you’re good at it.”

“God, you think I haven’t tried? Life as a single father is lonely, dude.”

Kenma laughs, full bodied and genuine. Kuroo groans. “You’re quite the mood ruiner.”

“Look, if you’re just gonna make fun of me, you can leave and I can do it myself.”

“Hm. I don’t know what to do,” Kenma admits, embarrassed for the second time. He really doesn’t want to follow such a good blowjob with his own messy attempt, and does he really just want to reach back and tug Kuroo off like this? Staring into his face? This is so far out of his element.

“If you wanna just scoot forward a little and keep doin’ what you’re doin’ I can take it from here,” Kuroo offers.

“I don’t wanna sit on your…” Kenma gestures to the bandage covering the side of Kuroo’s stomach, all the bruises surrounding it.

Kuroo takes note of it for what seems to be the first time. “Oh, yeah. Probably shouldn’t come while somethin’ hurts, huh? That could develop into something weird.”

“Gross, Jesus, I’m leaving.” He’s not joking. Kenma slides off Kuroo’s hips and finds the older man’s shirt, pulling it over his head so it falls almost to his knees.

“Hey, you’ll come back right?” Kuroo checks as Kenma cracks the bedroom door open to check that Shouhei and Kai really are gone.

“If you’re lucky!” Kenma calls.

He closes the door behind himself and crosses the living room to get to the bathroom. Once the door is closed behind him, Kenma slumps against it.

God.

That just happened.

It was probably kind of shitty of him to leave like that, wasn’t it? But Kuroo said he wasn’t obligated to do anything, and Kuroo always tells him the truth. He wouldn’t stop now.

All Kenma knows is that no shower in his life has ever felt as good as this one. A whole twenty four hours worth of fear and Daishou and Kuroo’s blood, washed away down the drain. He uses Kuroo’s boring body wash and Shouhei’s colorfully bottled shampoo, satisfied with the mix of mature and immature. Something Kuroo has taught him is that he can’t take himself too seriously, or life gets painfully boring.

When he’s mostly dry and slipped back into Kuroo’s shirt, he crosses the apartment again to nudge the bedroom door open.

Kuroo is lying in the same position on his back, down to just underwear, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when Kenma steps into the room, a wide smile on his face. Kenma blushes.

“Is this a sight I’m gonna get used to?” he asks as Kenma steps up to the bed.

“I don’t know, are you gonna let yourself, or are you gonna pull away again?” Kenma murmurs. He’s had a fantastic morning, but it’s not too late for Kuroo to take it all back, blame it on adrenaline or something stupid and retreat back into the safety of dumb texts and getting too touchy when they’re drunk.

Kuroo frowns, reaches out to tug Kenma into his lap again. “I’m so sorry for all that,” he whispers when he’s settled. “Really. I… You have to understand, I just wanted to keep you safe.”

Kenma picks Kuroo’s hands up off his hips to hold them. “I do. Understand. I didn’t like it but I know it’s what you felt like you had to do. But do you see what I was saying? We were already that close. Daishou figured it out, at least.” He squeezes Kuroo’s hands. “And you’re stronger, now. You can protect me.”

“I will never let anything happen to you again. I swear.”

“I believe you.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey Ken – Weeee  _ wow,  _ what the hell happened to your –  _ Ohhhhhh.” _

“Don’t start, Shouyou,” Kenma sighs, popping the collar of the flannel around his neck in a vain attempt to cover it. “Do not even start with me.”

Hinata leans forward over the cafe table, lunch forgotten beside him as he grins deviously. “Ohohoho, looks like you and Kuroo finally had some  _ fun,  _ huh? Does he look any better?”

Kenma thinks of the way his own hickies had looked in the mirror when he inspected them this morning: generally mouth shaped, red. Simple. He thinks of the marks his own inexperienced lips had left on Kuroo’s skin: mottled various shades of pink and purple, splotchy, darker in some places and tapering off in others.

“Worse,” he finally replies.

Hinata  _ howls. _

“What about you?” Kenma deflects, and before Hinata can stop him he reaches across the table to tug the collar of his shirt down just a little bit, revealing the faded mark there. “Is this from that boy with the bangs?”

A high flush spreads across Hinata’s cheeks while he fixes his shirt. “Maybe. Yes. His name is Tobio.”

“I see you with him at parties. Is he your boyfriend?”

Hinata sighs. “Sort of? We’re like, exclusive I guess, but we’re not really together I guess?”

“Don’t those usually come in the opposite order?”

“He’s not the best at… social nuances.”

Kenma opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“What?”

“I don’t think you used that word right.”

“I don’t care, Kenma.” He points accusingly at his neck and practically shouts, “You had sex!”

Coughing overtakes him, and if looks could kill he thinks he would die of embarrassment before Hinata was dead. A few people in the immediate area glance over at them, but college kids on a college campus discussing sex is hardly news. Still, Kenma does his best to shrink into the flannel he’s wearing. “I really do not appreciate you,” he mumbles as Hinata laughs. “And I didn’t have sex.”

Hinata takes a huge bite of his lunch before responding. “Oh, sure, sure. You just fell into the pole on the bus. Neck first.”

It’s a funny excuse, but Kenma rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say they weren’t from Kuroo. He just…” What the hell is he supposed to say?  _ Oh, he just got stabbed twice trying to save me again and then passed out for a while. Gave me a blowjob when he woke up. _ Yeah, not a conversation he wants to have. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles.

To his surprise, Hinata lets it go. “As long as you guys are happy,” he says, waving his hand as he takes another bite.

Kenma nods, smile unhidden. “We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dead sea, the lumineers  
> [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=itm1FzBi1dY) [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/1DDNfRbtLn2dxm4onBxhOV?si=cxoah6zhTKa9jUVhGEDlJQ)
> 
> a world alone, lorde  
> [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oRUj41vuscM) [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/2HLnzsXJ3mD9UWAa3RY89n?si=BHLG4pI8Qm-1bRWn85-94g)


End file.
